A Journey Called Life
by Someone the World Forgot
Summary: This one-shot: "A New Beginning." A one-shot centered around two generations of the Schreaves: Clarkson and Amberly Schreave, and Maxon and America Schreave. Perhaps, when they were young, they weren't so different from each other. ALL RIGHTS TO KIERA CASS
1. Chapter 1

**So basically this takes place after the One. It's a bit of a mix of AU and Clarkson and Amberly's deaths in the One**

**Happy reading!**

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><p>The palace guards pull out a gun and starts firing at the crowd. All hell breaks loose. Gunfire exploding, people screaming their last screams. It is chaos. But above all that noise, Maxon and America can hear it loud and clear— "Come on, guys, get the King and Queen!"<p>

Maxon and America run to the safe room. Guards everywhere are protecting them, forming a tight circle. No one can get the King and Quen without shooting down the guards first. But there are too many of them. They arrive at the entrance. They are safe. Without a second to lose, they rush into the safe room. They are safe. They are safe.

But not quite.

When Maxon pushes the hidden door open, the guards guarding them pull out a gun. "Not so fast, your Majesties." One of them says, smiling an evil smile. "You guys walked into our trap."

In the blink of an eye, one of the other guards take an aim at Maxon's heart. He braces himself for the pain to come. But it doesn't. America jumps in front of it, and the bullet is embedded in her skin. She crumples to the ground. "AMERICA!" Maxon screams. She doesn't respond, but he swears he can see her chest rising and falling a bit. She's alive, but barely.

Some other palace guards, this time, real ones, rush to the scene and take out the Southern rebels posing as palace guards. When they're all dead, the palace guards rush to America' side. She is bleeding heavily, they shot her in the chest. She doesn't have much longer to live. They gently carry her to the safe room and set her on the ground.

One of the guards, Officer Leger, sinks to his knees. "Mer," he whispers. "Don't go. Maxon needs you. I need you." Maxon feels a twinge of jealousy. Who does that guard think he is? Sure, he was America's ex, but she's married to Maxon, not Aspen! Aspen's married to Lucy!

America smiles faintly. "It's alright, Aspen. You can survive without me. I'm just a sister. Kamber and Celia are, too. And Lucy can be there to help." She pauses, and coughs out a bit of blood.

Maxon takes her small, beautiful hand in his. "America, please, don't go!"

America shakes her head. "Even the best doctor in the world can't save me now. My time has come. I have to go. Never forget me, Maxon. Marry Kriss so he can be your queen. I love you. I believe that you will be a great king. I love you, Maxon."

"How can you give up your life so easily for me? You sacrificed your life to save me! Why?"

"Because sometimes it's worth it to give your life up to someone you love. Cherish this "second life" I gave you, Maxon. You may never get another one. I—" she doesn't finish her sentence. Her hand falls limp. In a moment, Maxon can feel her radiance, her beauty, her life, slipping away. She's gone.

"I love you, my dear America." Maxon says and loses it. He cries. He doesn't care who's watching. The love of his life is dead. Suddenly, he feels someone hugging him. Aspen. He has tears in his eyes, too.

America's death brought them closer together. Only if it wasn't through the one person's death they cared most about.

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><p><strong>Seems like I have a real knack at writing death scenes. I wonder what wrong with me...? Okay, I promise, next one-shotdrabble won't include a death! Okay?**

**Sawwy if you cried. I hate making people cry :(**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys!**

**Okay, this is obviously AU. This one, I will do a two-shot. It might be the next chapter, it might not. Depends. **

**going for the win: okay, I can't promise you that, but I'll try my best. Maybe there'll be one more character death, but that's it. And that's a maybe. **

**Happy reading!**

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><p>•Shattered•<p>

This is it. Today, Clarkson will be announcing to us—and Illéa—who he chooses. Me, Samantha, or Macy. Me, Sam, or Macy. Prince Clarkson comes into the room. Macy is front of him on his left, Sam directly in front, and I on his right.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Alex Fadaye's voice booms. "Today, his Highness, Prince Clarkson, will be announcing who he will choose as his wife and future queen of Illéa; Lady Amberly Station, Lady Samantha Rodgers, or Lady Macy Prior. Without further ado, Prince Clarkson!"

Clarkson smiles. "Thank you, Alex." He turns to us. "While the three of you are all lovely ladies, I can only choose one to be my wife."

He turns to Macy. "Lady Macy, you are a very smart and resourceful lady. You have a lot of love in your heart. You are a gentle person and very patient. You have many qualities that would make you a wonderful queen. If I send you home tonight, I will remember your good qualities and hope that your husband would cherish those qualities. Thank you for being here these past few weeks." He bows his head and kisses her hand.

Sam is next. "Lady Samantha, or Lady Sam, as you prefer, you are a very independent lady. You are kind and loving, yes, you are, but you are not to be pushed around. You are very firm in your beliefs and refuse to be taken advantage of. This is a very good quality to have when in a meeting, and as queen. If you are not my chosen one tonight, I won't t forget you and how you did not like to be pushed around. If that happens, your husband will cherish your stubbornness. Thank you for being here these past few weeks." He bows his head and kisses he hand, like he did with Macy.

I am last. "Lady Amberly, you have a very calm demeanor that calms everyone in the room, even the angriest person, or the most anxious person. You are level-headed and intelligent. You are a very loving person. You do not like to be pushed around, but you like compromising and are skilled at settling arguments. These are all very queenly personalities. If you are not the One, I will still remember you, and I hope your husband would love your loving personality." He does the same thing he did to Macy and Sam to me.

Clarkson reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box, where the ring sits, I presume. He walks by Macy, Sam, and I in a full circle and stops at Macy. He gets down on one knee and opens it. "Lady Macy Prior, will you marry me?"

I'm shattered. My heart has broken into a million pieces, and no one can pick it all up to make it whole again. I really thought he'd propose to me. I really did. He told me he loved me dozens of times. Did he really mean that?

I don't think so. Or maybe he told Macy hundreds of times. Then those times he told me aren't worth anything.

I know what's going to happen next. Macy's obviously going to say yes. It's obvious. Anyone would. But I still keep a smile on my face and concentrate on letting my calmness flow. At least, I hope it's still radiating.

Macy covers her mouth with her hand. She's unable to speak, joy glowing from her face. "Yes," she manages to squeak out, "yes, yes, YES!"

I feel the smile slipping, so I plaster it on my face and hope it stays. "And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the end of the Selection! Good night, citizens of Illéa! Congratulations, Prince Clarkson and Lady Macy!" Alex smiles. The cameras turn off.

Sam and I congratulate Macy on her engagement and we do a group hug. "I'm going to miss you guys," Macy says.

"Oh, really?" Sam mischievously wiggles her eyebrows. "Are you sure, or will you be too busy doing something else to remember us?"

Macy slaps her. "Uh, no!" A tint of red creeps on her cheeks.

"Hey, why did you slap me?" Sam says innocently, smirking. "I meant that you'd be too busy studying to be queen and doing that that princess-y stuff. And going to meetings too. Did I say something entirely different? Oops."

"Good try, Sam. Your 'innocence' didn't work." I say, trying not to laugh. "I'm going back to bed, now. I woke up too early today." I add.

"Yea, me too. Besides, I think you have other guests to talk to. I hate parties, you know. Even ones my friends host." Sam yawns.

Macy doesn't seem to catch on. "Okay, yeah, you're right. See ya in the morning!" Macy waves and then leaves.

Sam and I curtsey to King Porter and Queen Abby at the staircase and then we depart to our respective rooms. The wave of emotions come the millisecond I shut my door. Pain, sadness, heartbreak, betrayal—but most of all, confusion. Did I do something wrong yesterday that made him change his mind? Were all those kisses and "I love you's" meaningless? Did he really not love me? Then why did he keep me here?

I cry myself to sleep. My dreams, my hopes—crushed. I'm shattered inside.

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><p>The next morning, I hug Macy and Sam one last time after exchanging addresses so we can keep in contact with each other. I pick up my suitcase and walk to the car to await my flight back home.<p>

My heart will never be the same again. I love Clarkson, I really do. But he loves someone else more, and I have to accept that. I can and I will, but it will take a long time. Maybe once I find someone who I truly love and he loves me back, maybe my heart can whole, with a small part missing.

But as for now, I can only hope.

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><p><strong>Yea, I know, I know. I'm a very depressing person, huh? The part two of this will be either in Chapter three or four. As usual, I'm very open to suggestions for one-shots, drabbles, etc. And any criticism on how to improve my writing is welcome, of course! Thanks for reading!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**This is modern-day Selection and AU. Apsen's totally out of character. Sawwy Team Aspen. This is something totally random that popped into my mind. So ... it's weird. **

**Reviews:**

**flowergirl123456: Thanks! And yea, I know. Next chapter will have that ... ;P**

**HorseGalFangirl9 (1 and 2): Sure! Of course! And the credit would be AWESOME, thanks! And sawwy girlie. I can and I did. I can promise you that there will be no more America deaths, though. But maybe other character deaths. **

**Happy reading!**

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><p>•We Are Never Getting Back Together•<p>

"Hey, Max!" I hear a voice yell. I whip my head around and see Marlee and Carter walk into the café. I wave them over. "Hey!" I exclaim the moment they plop down on our booth. "How's it going?"

Marlee groans. "Horrible. I don't see how Mrs. G can love biology. This. Is. TORTURE!"

America glances around the small café. Several heads are turned, staring at us, hearing the last part of Marlee's outburst. "Um, Mar…" America whispers.

"That's was a bit too loud, was it?" Marlee asks. She looks around and sees the answer. "Whoops." We laugh.

Suddenly, a voice yells, "Mocha Frappuccino for Maxon, chai tea for America, Strawberries and crème Frappuccino for Angie, and Black coffee for Clara!"

America and I walk to the counter, along with a thirteen year old and a forty-year-old woman who can pass for the girl's mom. We take our drinks and walk back to where our friends sit. "Do you want anything?" I ask them. "Uh, yes, but—" Carter starts.

"My treat," America cuts in. She pulls out her wallet and grabs a $10 bill. My redheaded girlfriend gives it to Marlee, who squeals a thank-you and scurries off with Carter.

I grab my Frappe and take a long sip. "Mmm," I sigh. "Tastes so good."

"You look like you're going to marry it!" America says, laughing.

"Well, that's what you looked like when you tasted my mom's strawberry tarts for the first time."

"Hey! Even the best bakery's tarts aren't like that!" America objects.

"Well, yea, but you looked like you were going to marry them." I retort.

"Who's getting married now*?" A new voice says. I jump, startled, smacking my head on the window blind. Ow! I wince and rub my head. Nicoletta grins. "Sorry about that. I saw you here and decided you say hi." She looks around at the café. "I didn't know you guys like Starbucks."

"Well, now you know," Marlee says with a laugh.

We finish our drinks and walk onto Main Street. Suddenly, America walks right into someone. "Oof!" I hear her say. The person she crashes into helps her up. "Sorry about that," I hear her say.

"It's alright," he says. America's mouth falls open.

America POV

I stare at those green eyes I know so well. It's Aspen Leger. My former boyfriend.

"Mer?" He seems as stunned as I am.

"Um …" I can't seem to get any words out.

"America, do you know him?" Maxon asks.

"Of course she knows me. I'm her ex-boyfriend." Aspen says haughtily. "Even though I don't know why she broke up with me."

"Well, her reason makes total sense," Max snaps. "And wow, you're worse that America says you are. You cheated on her—MULTIPLE TIMES—and you say you don't know why?!"

Aspen is speechless.

"And before you say 'when?", like the other times I confronted you, let me have the honour of listing them." I scowl. "First time, with Shannon, kissing; second time, with Brittany, kissing; third time, with Sheila, making out; fourth …" I stop. "Do I need to continue?"

"Mer! I didn't mean to! I mean, it was just an accident … please, give me another chance!" Aspen pleads.

I snort. "Aspen, only someone as stupid as you would do that. First of all, you already asked me that dozens of times, every time I say no. What makes you think I will say 'yes' this time? And second of all, can't you see I'm dating someone?"

"And aren't you dating Lucy?" Maxon puts in.

"Well, umm …"

"I can't believe the nerve of you!" Maxon bursts out. "You cheated on America dozens of times, she has a boyfriend—me!—and I'm pretty sure you know that, so basically you're trying to steal her, and you already have Lucy! Do I feel sorry for her, putting up with your doings!" I smirk spreads on his face. "I think," he says slowly, "we should tell our good friend Lucy what happened today, so she won't have her heart broken again."

"Mer! Please! I love _you_," Aspen cries.

I've had enough. I walk right up to him and slap him smartly across his face. "You're lucky this time," I say. "Next time this happens, I'm going to let Maxon deal with you. Believe me, you won't like that. I'm going to say this one last time. I'm making this clear: We," I point to him and me, "are never, ever, EVER getting back together. You hear me?"

He nods, then scurries away. Maxon laughs. "Okay, that was taken care of. Where to next, guys?" He turns to Marlee, Carter, and Nicoletta standing behind us.

"That … was … intense," Marlee comments.

"Crap! Bio test tomorrow! I'm screwed. For real." Marlee suddenly exclaims.

"Thanks for reminding me," Nicoletta grumbles."Oh, and awesome Taylor Swift reference, by the way. Ya know, the thing you said to that big jerk?" she adds.

I smile. "Good thing _someone_ caught that."

"Well, I like her songs, so …"

"Really, I don't know you do!"

"Now you know!"

"Hey, didn't you steal that line from when you saw us at Starbucks?"

"I think so?"

"Hey, we copyrighted it first!"

"Good luck, America, with that! I don't think there is a lawsuit for 'stolen phrases'. And—"

"Wait." I stop. "I dig my Starbucks receipt out of my purse and grab a pen. I write: _Hello Aspen. Remember what I said earlier! We are never, ever, ever getting back together or else Maxon will pummel ya! ~America_

I slip it into the mail slot in his door. "Just a friendly reminder," I grin. "Nicoletta, what were you saying?"

"The copyright thing."

"Oh, right."

"…Yea, and also …"

"Dude, just shut up so we can walk in peace, girl!" Marlee interjects.

And we do.

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><p><strong>Whoever can find the reference here to a Lorien Legacies book (Fall of Five) gets to collab with me on a one-shot OR submit a character for my other story OR get a sneak peek for part two of my Shattered two-shot :P Or something like that ... I rna out of ideas for options ... <strong>

**Thanks for reading!**

**P.S. What's your favourite Starbucks Frappuccino drink? **


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys!**

**So, this is part two of my two-shot, Shattered. **

**Nobody got the Fall of Five reference from my last previous one-shot, We Are Never Getting Back Together. The reference is when Nicoletta asks Ames and Max "Who's getting married now?". In Fall of the Five, Eight overhears Marina and Ella talking and how Ella has a crush on Nine. FUN FACT: I got the idea for We Are Never Getting Back Together because I was listening to Taylor Swift's song. **

**Reviews:**

**HorseGalFangirl9: Me too! She's awesome! Thanks for the compliment! And haha Aspen was super OCC, huh? Maybe ... *gives evil smile* I should make Maxon super OCC too! How does that sound, girlie? And thanks, a credit would be awesome! Really? Or just the crème ones? I can't have caffeine. Mine is green tea. :)**

**going for the win: awe, it's alright, buddy. He isn't :)**

**Happy reading! **

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><p>•Picking Up the Pieces•<p>

As I arrive back in my province, Honduragua, I see a crowd of people waiting for me, cheering for me. I smile, despite my heartbreak. All these people all love me, even though I didn't win. I see my family at the front of the crowd. "Amberly!" I hear my sisters, Ainsley and Adele, yell. "You're back!" She engulfs me in a hug. My parents and siblings join them. I am crushed in a mass of arms and bodies, but I now realize how much I missed them. The guard who accompanied me here hands me my suitcase. Aaron takes it instead, insisting that he carry it. My big brother's so sweet.

We reach our house, which isn't really all at far, and I walk to my room. I set my suitcase on my bed and unpack it. Before I left, my maids gave me a few dresses from the Selection for me to keep. I hang up the four dresses. The only things I have left from the Selection. From my maids. I miss them so much. They really are wonderful.

I don't know how long I sit on my bed, but after a while, my mom comes in and tells me it's time for dinner. I get up and walk to the kitchen and we start digging in. The food tastes so good. Sure, it's not as rich as the food during the Selection, but this is food that my mom made. Not by a chef. This is home food. This is heaven.

When we're done, a knock comes on the door. I walk over to it and see a young man, maybe about 20 years old. "Miss Amberly Station?" He greets, kissing my hand. "Pleased to meet you. I am Edward Collins."

I am thoroughly confused. What is this Edward guy doing here? "Um, hello. Please to meet you, Edward," I murmur.

"Oh, sorry, Amberly!" My mom exclaims. "Edward is here because he wants to have a chance with you. He's taking you out for a date. There will be more guys coming, I promise. The longer you stay in the Selection, the more suitors you have. He's just the first of many."

"Oh. Alright, then." I say, a bit flustered. He offers his arm and I take it. Then we set off into the night.

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><p>I groan and close the notebook. After I returned from my first date with Edward, the next day, I purchased a small black notebook from the store to keep track of my suitors. Their names, ages, Caste, job, personality, and whether or not I like them. I'm glad I did. So far, I've had … let's see … about twenty-two suitors. This is unbelievable! Many of them, like Edward, just wanted my good looks that the fact that I was in the Selection. Over half of them are big jerks. There are only four of them who are sweet and actually love me, not for my money or status. At least, I think they don't.<p>

I look at my list again.

Edward NO

James NO

Brandon YES

Cory NO

Ethan YES

Andrew NO

Chris W. NO

Eric YES

Carey NO

Miles NO

Jeremy NO

Ben NO

I avert my eyes to the last few. All the suitors between Eric and Robert are horrible. One of them, Miles, tried to _make out_ with me. Ugh!

Chris C. NO

Robert YES

William NO

Avery NO

I hope Avery is the last one. I don't know how much more I can stand. But I have to admit, I love Robert more than any of those guys, even the ones who are actually _nice_. It doesn't matter what Caste he is. Even if he is an Eight, I will still love him. Maybe he will be the one who will mend my heart and make it whole, with only a sliver missing. That'll be good enough for me.

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><p>After we drop our nine-month-old Lizzy off to her grandma's (my mom's) house, Robert and I drive to our workplaces, which, coincidentally, is on the same street. I model and Robert is a military guard trainer. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Robert biting his lip, a sign that he is nervous. "Rob, what's wrong?" I ask.<p>

"Uh, nothing," he replies hastily.

I roll my eyes. "Rob, you're nervous about something. You're biting your lip. I can see that. Quit trying to hide whatever you're hiding from me,"

He laughs. "Alright, Amberly. You win. I'm not sure if the shipment of guns from Carolina will make it today. Apparently the plane broke down. And it's too far for a car to drive. I don't know what will happen if…" He stops. A corner of his mouth curls up. "You know, just telling you made me calmer already. I think the Prince was an idiot to not choose you."

I shift in my seat. "About that…" I trail off.

"Honey, if you're not ready, you don't have to tell me now," he says gently.

I twiddle my thumbs. I can still hear Maria, the teacher who was in charge of us during the Selection, say that twiddling thumbs are a very bad, un-ladylike habit. I can still hear her yelling about that. I grin, but the smile fades. Robert knows about the Selection, of course, but he told me to tell him only when I am ready to. "No, Rob, I'm ready."

"Okay. You only have ten minutes until we arrive, though."

I tell him about the Selection, how the Prince showered me with kisses, how many times he said "I Love You"—I told him everything. How my heart flew to pieces when he proposed to Macy. "I thought he really loved me. But I guess he didn't."

He glances at me, his eyes still on the road. "How can you still sound calm and not at all heartbroken after all that? I mean, as you know, I caught my former girlfriend, Carrie, cheating on me. She was kissing another man and I heard her tell him she loved him. It took me about a year and a half to completely get over that. Like, no more longing for her, no more moments of sadness. I really loved her, and I thought she loved me, too."

I smile. "Remember I said that my heart can never be whole again, because Clarkson shattered it beyond repair?" He nods. "Well, you changed that. You healed my heart. It's whole again. Every piece that shattered a year and a half ago is back where it belongs, and you even added some pieces that I never knew was missing. I'm beginning to think that I never loved Clarkson as much as I thought I did. Maybe I loved Clarkson with only an eighth of the amount of love I love you with. Wait, um, does that make sense?"

He laughs. "Yes, that makes a lot of sense." Robert stops the car and gets out. I, too, get out and walk to the door, but Robert stops me. "You know, Amberly, you are a very strong woman, to be able to get over that so quickly."

I chuckle. "Well, someone helped me," I reply, hugging him. "Have a nice day and see you at lunch!" Stepping into the building, I shut the door, and wave at my husband through the window.

My heart is whole now. It was never whole before I met Clarkson, but Robert made it whole. I'm glad I hoped that someone whom I love, loves me back. I have my Prince. He may not be the Prince of Illéa, but in my heart, he is a Prince. My Prince. It may not be the perfect fairy-tale ending I envisioned when I made it into the Selection, and then on to the Elite, but to me, this is better than perfect.

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><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed it! <strong>

**Thanks for reading!**

**-Kiren**

**P. S. If you could meet ONE person-anyone, doesn't matter if s/he's dead-who would you choose? Also, book/movie characters work, too ;)**

**P. P. S. This is the updated version because the list didn't come out the way I wanted to. Sorry about that!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hay guys!**

**This is AU, because America and Maxon got their roles switched. So, America is Clarkson and Amberly's daughter, and Maxon is the middle child of five and of Shalom and Magda. (In other words, America is Maxon and Maxon is America).**

**Reviews:**

**HorseGalFangirl9: Fangirl as much as you want! I don't mind. ;P Taylor Swift seems like a good choice. I mean, come on, you can choose anything! And thanks! And i call you girlie because you remind me of my friend Hannah (maybe it's your username or personality or the amount of fangirling you do?) and we (and another friend) always call each other that ... ;)**

**going for the win: Yea, I know what you mean. I never met my grandpa. He died a few years before I was born. So yea, that's probably my choice, too. Thanks! **

**Theoneforever: America, huh? That's an interesting choice! True, I would too, but I love her fiery personality and stubbornness. That's what makes America herself, right?**

**Happy reading! **

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><p>•Innocence•<p>

"Princess America!" My maid, Anne, says, knocking on the door. "It's time for lunch."

"Thanks, Anne!" I say, putting down the pile of papers I was given this morning and hurry down to the dining hall to eat. My mother gives me a hug and a warm smile before returning to her food. My father ignores me.

"So, America," my mother starts, "How is your day so far?"

"Good," I say, taking a bite out of the sandwich on my plate. Again, my father ignores me.

After an awkward silence, my father stands up. "America, I need to see you in my office later, when you're done with your lunch." He says. Then he leaves without waiting for a reply.

I quickly finish and I walk into my dad's office. "Hello, America." He says. "Are you done with the papers?"

I gulp. "Um, I'm almost done, father."

"'Almost'?" He repeats, slowly drawing out the word to make it into three syllables. "Twenty percent? Fifty percent? Ninety percent?" He asks, sticking his face right into mine. "America, finish it and give it to me by three o' clock TODAY, this afternoon, or else I'll have to give you a little lesson. And you wouldn't want that, would you?" He smiles a sinister smile. He is pure evil.

I feel a shiver run through me. I nod quickly. "Yes, sir," I say. I walk out of his office, but once I am in the hall, I make a break for it. I tear down the long hall, the one with the red carpets and portraits and paintings, and sprint into my room. I slam the door and plop on my chair. I hurriedly finish the stack, review it to make sure I don't have any mistakes, and walk into his office. I firmly knock on the door three times. He opens it. "Ah, America," he says. "I see that you have finished the papers." He glances at the clock, "And with minutes to spare, too. I guess I won't be giving you a lesson, today, hmm?" He chuckles. He dismisses me with a careless wave of his hand.

My heart pounds. I know that I am always at risk of getting whipped by my father. He is ruthless, cruel, cold, and heartless. Today, I probably missed a whipping by him by a mere few inches. Whenever that thought of whipping me crosses his mind, there is no turning back. I am doomed. He will find a fault one way or the other and punish me.

I leave and head down to the Women's Room. I greet my mother with a kiss on her cheek. "Hello, Mom," I say, sitting down next to her. "Hello, Ames." She returns. Her calm voice immediately soothes me. My father may not love me, but my mother does. She's the one who took care of me. How on earth did my mother, my gentle, loving, kind, beautiful, calming mother, end up with a cruel, sinister, cold-hearted, monster of a man?

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><p>"America, you will <span>not<span> be having a Selection. We need to strengthen ties with Swenday and also, we need a Prince to rule. So, I have arranged a marriage between you and Prince Bjørn de Illéa de Monpezat of Swenday. He is the second oldest brother. That way, you and Prince Bjørn will rule Illéa, and that will strengthen the ties between us." My father says, smiling a "pleasant" smile. I know there is a plan. He is never pleasant without a plan beneath that wicked smile of his.

But I've had enough. I am not his puppet. I am his daughter, Crown Princess of Illéa, and future Queen. I will not be a puppet ruler. I refuse to. "Father, no. I refuse to marry to him. I want someone, someone who is Illéan." I blurt out. I mentally slap myself. I'll be getting a beating for sure.

He stops chewing and looks at me. "Well, America, we'll have a little 'talk' later, in my office, about that. How about after lunch? Don't want to interrupt your lunch, hmm?" He smirks at me. "Here, I'll escort you to my office, so we can talk about this right away, to finish it faster, ok?" I have no choice. I'm going to get whipped. There's no way out of it. When my mother is distracted, he shoots a death glare at me. The moment my mother looks back up, he transforms into a little "angel" and "darling father".

He finishes his meal. I too, am finished. "Come, America. Let's have our talk."

My life is hell. I need someone to get me out of it.

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><p>His whips me. Again. "That Maxon boy is nothing but trouble." Another lash. "He is rebellious, stubborn, and not fit to be king. Choose someone else. That Aspen boy, he's a good choice. Choose him." Another lash. I grit my teeth, refusing to scream. I refuse to be weak. I am not a coward. I am strong. <em>I am strong, I am strong, I am strong,<em> I repeat, over and over, in my head.

Finally, after an eternity, he stops. "That's enough of a lesson today," he says, putting the bloody whip away. "But next time, I promise you, the lesson will be harder. That's a promise," he grins at me and shuts the door.

I finally let it go. I let the tears run down my face. The blood trickles—no _gushes_—down my back. I wait until the blood lessens. I throw on my dress and rush into the hall. I need help, _now_. I push open the door and fall on his bed. The blood starts again. I groan. The person who I trust most steps out of his bathroom. "America?" he asks, worry evident in his eyes. "What is it?"

I shake my head and listen for anyone who may be eavesdropping. His maids aren't here. "You must promise not to tell anyone, or you and I both will be sentenced for execution. I pull of my dress and bra. I lay on the bed, my back facing him. He gasps. "Mer, who did this to you?"

"My…my…father," I manage to gasp out. "Help me, clean it, quick."

He complies. "I promise I won't tell a single soul. I promise."

I breathe a sigh of relief. I knew I made the right choice, coming to this boy. "Thank you, Maxon."

"Anytime," he says, softly. He starts to clean my wounds. I hiss at the pain. "Would you normally clean them yourself?" He asks. I nod. I don't know if he can see. It hurts too much. I don't want to talk. But I do. "My maids are sworn to secrecy. And sometimes, they clean it, but they are in the sewing room and I know I can't make it down that far."

Maxon finally finishes. "Good thing I know how to dress wounds." He smiles a crooked smile. He looks at my back again. "He started doing this to you years ago. I can tell by the scars on top of scars." He deadpans. "He stole your innocence."

"I was never innocent. Well, maybe when I was younger, but I can't remember. He stole it from me too early. I could never be a child. I could never be innocent." I whisper, putting on my bloody dress. I start to get up and leave the room.

But he stops me. "Mer, don't. I'll say that you're tired, and that you'll ring for your maids if you get hungry. You need to recover."

I trust that he will do what he says. He starts to play his cello, and the beautiful sound fills the room. It lulls me to sleep. But Maxon's previous words haunt me. I was never innocent. My innocence never existed. That monster—my _father_—took it away from me.

I hate him. I always did, and I always will. But the hate got bigger. Darker.

Because I never got to have an innocent childhood.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>

**-Kiren**

**P.S. What is your movie obsession right now? And have you heard "Ghost" by Ella Henderson? I. Love. That. Song. Sooooo. Much!**

**P.P.S. Here's a game. Remember the list Amberly had of her suitors? Well, my former crush's name is in there. If you find it, you will be able to submit a character for a one-shot or my other story.**

**Hint #1: The first letter is from A - G**

**Hint #2: There are no letter repeats in that name **

**Hint #3: It isn't in the beginning or the end of the list, but not really in the middle, either**

**Hint #4: There are many variations / nickanmes to that name**

**Good luck!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hay guys!**

**This is a Lorien Legacies - Selection trilogy mash-up. This is totally random. I was reading the Lorien Legacies fanfiction and ****_ding!_**** this popped into my head. You don't know what LL is about, but of course, knowing about that wouldn't hurt, either. This, in both worlds, are both AU, and modern-time. Well, LL is modern, but anyhow ... yea ...**

**Reviews:**

**theoneforever: Interesting guess ... look below to see if you got it right! Thanks! And DIVERGENT IS PRETTY MUCH MY LIFE! (along with the Selection, Lorien Legacies, THG, Fault in our Stars, etc ...)**

**going for the win: Interesting guess ... as said before, look below to see the winner! Thanks! I don't watch a lot of movies either ... *gives you a high five!* National Treasure? I'll have too google that :D**

**HorseGalFangirl9: Thanks! And interesting guess ... look below ;)**

**Okay, and the winner is ... *drumroll please* ... theoneforever! She guessed correctly and has submitted a character for my other story, The Beginning of the End.**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

><p>•They Won't Stand A Chance•<p>

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

"Crap!" I yell, yanking the covers off. I hit OFF on my alarm. "I'm late!"

I throw on the clothes I wore last night, quickly (but unsuccessfully) run a brush through my tangled, knotted hair, grab my backpack, and rush through the door. "Bye, Kenna!" I yell as the door slams behind me.

I heave my heavy backpack onto my shoulders. Then I make a mad dash for the school. I'm late, I know that. But the later I am, the more consequences there are. School is about 5 miles, or about 8 km, away. I'm screwed. I'm gonna be late, late LATE! I run faster.

But for some reason, I feel different. Stronger, faster. I am not tired yet, even though I am sprinting full force. And I notice I am going fast. Very fast. I never ran this fast before. There is a shortcut to school, although no one ever uses it. It's through a forest. My boyfriend Aspen swears it's haunted. Screw this whole haunted forest business, I'm going taking my chances.

I plunge into the forest. At once, I am lost. I am surrounded by trees, trees, and MORE TREES! "Ugh, I wish the trees would just part themselves." I mutter. It'll take FOREVER to get through the mass of branches. To my utter shock, the trees part. There is just enough space for me to crawl through. I don't care what the heck just happened. I crawl through the masses. Each time, the branches part, beckoning me to crawl through. I am astonished. This is supernatural. Am _I_ causing this to happen?

I decide to wait until later to figure it out. I finally arrive at school with minutes to spare. Even with the shortcut, I know I got here faster than normal.

As I walk down the hall to my homeroom, I keep hearing voices in my head. _Dylan just winked at me!_ One voice squeals. _I can't believe that hunk, Maxon, ASKED me OUT!I_ another screams. That voice is probably Kriss.

One voice stands out from among the rest. _Mer looks really stressed. I better see what the matter is._ Aspen. Sure enough, two seconds later, he comes up to me. "Mer," he says, using his special nickname for me, "are you ok? You seem stressed." I shake my head, indicating that I'm fine. Although, truthfully, I'm not. But I don't want to worry him. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me, Aspen. Worry about your AP Calculus Final more," I say, smiling.

"Alright then," he kisses my cheek, "See you in first period." Then he leaves. Turning back, he adds, "And yea, I'm freaking out, about the Final. It's so complicated."

Why do I keep hearing voices? I know I'm not hallucinating. I am hearing what other people are _thinking_. But why? How can I? Is that even possible? It's not normal!

Suddenly, the biggest question of all falls on me: _What am I?_ What kind of human can hear voices in her head and get the trees to part? I can. But no one else. And I ran faster than ever, probably even faster than Brett, the top runner in my class. And he's impossibly fast.

* * *

><p>I hurry back home. Kenna <em>must <em>know about this. I know that I'm adopted.

Suddenly, a memory comes. I'm four years old. _"Kitten, this is Kenna." A voice—_my father—_announces. "She's going to take care of you when you are older." I hold out my hand. "Pleased to meet you, Kenna," I say politely,_ or rather, my younger self says_. _

Wait, how do I know that the man speaking is my father? I don't know. But I _do_ know that my four-year-old self knew him as my father. If he was my father, and he loved me, why did he leave? Maybe he died in a car accident … so I got adopted? But he introduced me to my mother, Kenna, _before_ he died. As if he arranged for him to die so I would go to my mom. And I distinctly remember me speaking another language in that memory, one I never heard of before.

Maybe Kenna will know the answers.

* * *

><p>"Kenna?" I ask, dumping my bag on the floor. "Where are you?"<p>

"I'm in the kitchen," she replies. I walk into the kitchen. "Hey, Ames." She greets me. "How was school today?"

"Good," I lie. It was _not_ good, I had to spend the whole day hearing people's perverted minds and stuff. It was horrible! I never knew that my class had so many dirty minds. But I managed to tune it out, or somehow stopped the whole reading minds thing. "Kenna, did my father speak another language?" I ask.

She raises an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

"Um …" I hesitate before continuing. "When I was walking home, a flashback came. My father introduced you to me and said that you were going to take care of me when I was older." My mom drops the spatula she's holding. It clatters onto the floor. She balls her hands into fists, her knuckles turning white. I'm pretty sure I unknowingly forgot to stop the power, because, at once I hear Kenna's voice. _No, it can't be, it can't be! She couldn't have! No! Loridas erased her memories of Lorien until she got her first Legacy; which means she would've gotten her enhancements. Which means … she knows she's different. No, no! How am I supposed to tell her? _

"Uh, Kenna? Who's Loridas? What's Lorien? What's a Legacy?" I blurt out.

She turns to me, shocked. She opens and closes her mouth a few times before answering. "You can read minds?"

"I think so?"

"Okay, you're old enough to know about this. I'm not your mother, you know that. You're not adopted, in a sense. I am your Protector, your Guardian, your Cêpan. You were not born on Earth. There are 18 life-sustaining planets in this galaxy. Lorien is one of them. On Lorien, there are two types of people: Garde and Cêpan. Garde have powers, called Legacies, like your mind-reading. Cêpans have enhanced intelligence, and they are the ones that run the planet. Garde protect it. Loridas is one of the Ten Elders, the most powerful Loric. The Elders are the ones who rule Lorien. All the Elders are Garde."

I am speechless. There are aliens out there? More importantly, _I_ am an alien?

"But I wasn't lying when I said that your birthday was 1995. I just altered your birthday so it would be a few days earlier from your actual birthday."

"Why?" I ask. Why are we here? Why did you alter my birthday? I have a million questions running through my head.

"Hush, Ames," Kenna says, placing a finger on her lips, signaling me to be silent. She continues. "When you were four years old, another race of aliens, called Mogadorians, attacked Lorien. Everyone perished. Only 9 Garde-and-Cêpan pairs and the pilot survived. There were supposed to be ten pairs, but the Tenth one never made it. You, and I, are one of the pairs. I know all of them are alive. Once we arrived, all of us separated. Hiding with only one other person will be easier that hiding with eighteen other Loric. We Cêpans are training the Garde—you kids—so one day, when you are stronger, you will get together and fight them. Lorien will rise again."

"Then why didn't you train me?" I ask in a small voice.

Kenna laughs. "Oh, Ames, I _do_. Those gymnastics class I enrolled you in at a young age? That was to strengthen your body and lengthen your endurance. Plus, being flexible will help when fighting. Track? It built up your speed and strength. Those karate and tae kwon do classes? To help you train hand-to-hand combat. The archery, paintball, and laser tag games I took you to once a week? That was to help with your ability to hide, shoot, and defeat your opponent. The Mogs."

It started to make sense now. Why I had so many after-school activities.

"They haven't found us yet, but they will." She continues. "Soon. The Garde are protected by a charm. Each Garde was named a number. Numbers One to Nine. They are safe until the number in front of them is killed, or if the Charm is broken. Number One isn't protected. If a Garde was about to get killed but the Garde in front of him is still alive, the deed will be done to the one inflicting harm. When a Garde is killed, a scar appears on their ankles. No scars, no deaths." She picks up the spatula. "Now, we have to work on your mind reading."

"And I somehow manipulated the trees, too."

"That's called Chlorokinesis, or plant manipulation. Your mind reading Legacy is called Telepathy. Both your Legacies can be very powerful when you master them and will be an excellent weapon and aide."

"What number am I?" I'm afraid she'll say I'm the first one, Number One, who has zero protection from the Charm.

"You are Number Two. When One dies, you are next. I'll explain all the details later. Remember, don't tell anyone, not even your boyfriend, Aspen. And even there is a hint that the Mogs have found us, we will leave right away, no questions asked, no goodbyes, nothing. We. Leave. Immediately. Okay?"

I nod.

* * *

><p>I know who I am now. I am Number Two. I am Loric.<p>

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>

**-Kiren**

**P.S. Sorry Maxerica fans. I wanted to be fair so yea, Asperica fans can be happy with this one. But there wasn't any fluff. Y'all know I suck at writing fluffy stuff. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Hay guys!**

**I was thinking how Kiera Cass never elaorated on Shalom being a Northern Rebel, so this idea popped into my head, and ****_voila_****, here it is.**

**Reviews:**

**EruditeAbnegationMockinjay: Thanks!**

**HorseGalFangil9: Thanks!**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

><p>•Shalom's Story•<p>

_"__Paz! Wake up!" I yell. _

_"__Nooooooooooooo," he grumbles. _

_"__Yesssssssssss!" I scream._

_"__I'm NOT gonna wake up!" He yells, then into his pillow, he mumbles, "little five-year-old brothers can be so annoying." _

_"__Am not!" I exclaim, jumping up and down on the bed. _

_"__How am I supposed to sleep when you're being a nuisance?" he growls. When I continuing jumping, he groans. "Oh, fine. I'm going to wake yup, I'm going to wake up." He slowly gets out of bed and puts on his clothes. Suddenly, a single gunshot fills the air. Paz drops down on the floor, dead. The man holding the gun puts some more ammo in. _

_"__He took too long to wake up," he says. "This is his punishment. And," a wicked smile forms on his face, "you're next." Then he pulls the trigger._

I shoot up, gasping. It was just a dream. But it seemed so real. So, so real. It felt like it could've actually happened. Except that I'm fourteen, not five.

My older brother, Paz, sticks his head into the room he and I share. "Hey, Shalom, the Commander wants to talk to us. Chop chop, kid. Hurry!" he says. I throw on some clothes and follow my sixteen year old brother to the Meeting room.

"Hello, Paz, Shalom," he says, turning to face us. "I you boys both are on a very important mission. Go back to your hometown and try to find as many people as you can who also believe the same things we do. Find them, see if they are worthy of joining us. If they are, bring them to me, or tell me where they live, who their names are. Et cetera. Am I clear so far?"

We nod.

"Good. This is a difficult job, because the chances of people opening up to strangers are slim. Very slim. This will be a life-long job, and to make it more convincing, both of you, get a job, marry, whatever. Just don't forget why you're there in the first place. You were Fives before, correct?"

We nod once more.

"Go back to your Caste and do whatever you need to do. I expect a report from each of you every two months. And also, see if maybe your children can also become Northern Rebels. It may help. But first, we'll have your last training session now before you leave tomorrow."

Paz and I follow the Commander to the Training room. We step him. I practice my aim, my brother works on his sprinting. I do push-ups, he punches a bag. I run, he lifts weights.

When we are done, we go to our room and start packing. It doesn't take long. We barely have anything with us.

Then we leave.

* * *

><p>I do what the Commander says. Paz and I split ways, promising the other that we won't forget why we are here. I begin to sculpt and paint, Paz … I don't know what he does. I didn't ask. I just concentrate on finding people to join us. Most of those I find are willing, they firmly believe what we believe. They just needed a little push in the right direction. Most of them didn't hesitate to join us.<p>

This is very hard work. I have to make sure they actually _do_ believe. Or else, we will give our location away and get killed. Now, I understand what the Commander said that we had to be very careful.

I wonder how Paz is doing. I haven't seen him in a while.

* * *

><p>Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, months turn into years. Twelve years have passed the day I left the Northern Rebel Bases. I am still doing the work the Commander assigned me, although, last time I went there, apparently, we now have a new Commander. Of course, the official Headquarters are too far for me to travel to within a night, so I go to the smaller bases. There are small, unimportant bases situated everywhere in Illéa.<p>

And I still haven't seen my brother.

* * *

><p>Another year passes. This time, I am ordered to go the slightly larger base in Carolina. I need to speak to the Commander in person. I hope I can see Paz again.<p>

I arrive and the guards at the gate let me in. I go into the Meeting room and see two men here. They lift their head at the sound of my footsteps. I recognize one of them. It is the former Commander. The other face, I don't know. "Shalom Singer," the older Commander says, "This is Maxwell Illéa. He is our new Commander. Well, he isn't new anymore, as he has been our Commander for a year already." He corrects himself. "He will soon be the one carrying out all the duties. I will retire soon after."

I nod at Maxwell. I acknowledges me. "Sirs," I ask, "have you had news of my brother?"

They nod, their faces grave. "Yes, Shalom. Paz married too early, before we told him to, and he recently died because there was a problem with his heart."

I sink to my knees. My brother, my kind and loving brother, is _dead_. I think the heart problem is a hereditary disease. Which means I will soon get that and die from it, too.

"We are here, Shalom," Maxwell says, breaking me out of my thoughts, "is to inform you that you have done your duty. You can marry now, but remember to raise at least one child that will follow our beliefs. Perhaps, he will join us one day."

I bow. "Thank you, sirs." I salute them one last time. "I will not forget my mission, sirs." I walk out.

* * *

><p>I smile at my wife, Magda. I see our children, Kenna and Kota, playing. They are not the children I will choose to pass on my beliefs. They are not strong enough. I need a fighter, a stubborn one, a strong child. Maybe our next one will be the One I choose. Maybe.<p>

* * *

><p>I see our third child, our daughter. She is everything I need for the Northern rebels. Even though she is just a baby, I can tell. She is a fighter; she fought her way out of my wife's womb. She is strong, she doesn't cry easily. Of course, I can't tell if she is stubborn yet, but I know it. She is the One I choose. I will guide her to follow my footsteps. She will join the Northern rebels someday. She will hate the Castes. She will make her dad proud.<p>

"What's her name?" Magda asks me, exhausted.

I smile. I know the perfect name for her. "America Singer." A name of defiance to the Castes, a strong name for a fighter, and a name that fits this little baby.

I know that my heart problem will come soon. In a year, maybe a decade—who knows? But I intend on teaching her everything I can and making sure her beliefs are strong, and her hate for the Castes even stronger.

I know she will succeed. I know she will make her dad proud.

Because she is America Singer, a fighter.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>

**-Kiren**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys!**

**I know I updated a while ago, but I can't help but upload this! It's pretty cute ... I think? Eh, I'm not good at writing from a little kid's point of view. I wrote this because I was babysitting a while ago, and this idea popped up. Yes, I get most of my story plots in the ****_ca-raziest_**** ways.**

**Reviews:**

**PrincessIndia: Thanks! Okay, I wrote something now :P**

**going for the win: Thanks!**

**Theoneforever: Thanks! Here's the update :)**

**Happy reading! **

* * *

><p>•Why the Rush?•<p>

"Daddy, Daddy!" I exclaim as I come home from school. My _bestest_ friend in the world, Celeste, and me and Jake ride to school in Cel's mummy's super fancy car. Oh, and of course, she drives me and Jake back home, too!

"Hello, sweetie," he says, coming to the front hall to meet me. He wraps me in a big bear hug. I squeeze him back _extra extra _hard. I show him a picture of something I drew in kindergarten today.

"Daddy, look what I drew today," I hold up my drawing of the sky and some birds. It looks beautiful. I hope Mommy likes it. I drew it for her. Tomorrow, I will draw one for Daddy. He will love it. I know it!

"It looks wonderful, honey. 'To Mommy'." He reads. He looks at me. "Do you want to give it to her now or later?"

"Now!" I say, jumping up and down.

"Great, let's go," Daddy swings me up so I sit on his shoulders. "Mommy's in Kurt and Chase's room."

"It's so high up here!" I squeal. "I'm taller than Daddy!"

Mommy comes out of my little brothers' room. "Hi Mommy!" I yell.

She puts a finger to her lips. "Shh, darling. Kurt and Chase are sleeping." Daddy swings me down onto the floor.

I grumpily cross my arms. "But they're always sleeping!" I protest. "When are they going to be awake and _play_?"

"Char, they're really little. The smaller you are, the more sleep you need. The bigger you are, the less sleep." Daddy says.

"So you mean when I'm as old as Jake I don't have to sleep as much?" I ask. That will be so cool!

"Maybe, we'll see." Mommy says.

I hand my drawing to her. "Mommy, I made this for you,"

She takes it. "Wow! It's so pretty!" she exclaims. Yay! Mommy likes my drawing! Mommy takes me by the hand. I am starting to feel tired. Maybe Daddy is right. I'm small, so I need more sleep. I fall onto my bed. Before I completely fall asleep, one last thought comes: _I hope I get to be big one day so I don't have to sleep as much!_

I better be big fast!

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><p><strong>Cute? Or nah? Tell me in the reviews!<strong>

****P.S. Who's dying right now because it's so hot? ME!****

**-Kiren**


	9. IMPORTANT! MUST READ!

So Sorry, guys!

This is not an update :(

It has come to my attention that i did not tell my readers on my name change, until guest user Gremlins informed me of it. In answer to your question, buddy, this is the same author as "Memories". I just simply renamed "Memories" to "A Journey Called Life". If you want, you can search up Memories. it is not there, because this is the new name. I really appreciate that you read my story, though! :)

Cheers!

-Kiren

P.S. Sawwy for disappointing y'all :(

P.P.S. I will take this down the next time I update ...


	10. Chapter 10

**Hai guys!**

**I'm back with a new one-shot! This one is a bit different. This is a Frozen-Selection Trilogy crossover.**

**All rights belong to Kiera Cass and the creators of Frozen.**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

><p><strong><em>~ This story is dedicated to Amanda Morris. Happy birthday, my friend. We love you and miss you! Even I didn't know you for that long, in the short time, you've changed my life forever. We all miss you immensely. Rest in peace, my friend. I will never forget you. ~<em>**

* * *

><p>•Frozen•<p>

"Psst! Daddy!" A voice cried, bringing him out of his sleep. He ignored it and rolled onto his back. It didn't sound urgent, so he's going back to sleep. He decided to deal with it later.

Maxon was abruptly shaken awake. "Mrrh?" he mumbled.

"Wake up, wake up, wake UP!" A little voice yelled. "Daddy, wake up!"

"Amanda, it's too early." America groaned. "Go back to sleep."

"Mommy! It's NOT too early!" The little girl declared. She flopped down on her father's back. "Oof," he grunted and shifted a little so his daughter would be more comfortable. "The sky's awake. So I'm awake. So I have to _play_!" she cried, rolling of her father's back.

"Okay, Amanda, okay. We'll wake up." Maxon yawned and sat up, running his fingers through his hair. His five-year-old grabbed his arm and tugged it away from his hair.

"Daddy! C'mon, c'mon!"

"Okay, okay, Amanda. We're coming." America said, shuffling to the door.

"Yay! It's snowing! Let's play in the snow!"

"Let's get you bundled up first, sweetie. It's cold out there."

* * *

><p>"Wheeee!" The five year old girl slid down the hills. Her father ice skated with her on the frozen pond. She and her mother built a snowman. "Hello, my name is Olaf!" Her mother announced in an 'Olaf' voice.<p>

Amanda Schreave rushed to hug the smiling snowman. "I love you Olaf!" she exclaimed.

They made snow angels, had snowball fights.

Those days were perfect.

* * *

><p>The day before Amanda's eighth birthday, when the whole castle was asleep, the Snow Queen crept into the little girl's room. This snow Queen was named Elsa. She was furious that they did not invite her to the Princess' christening. So, in order to get revenge on them, she would put a curse on the young girl. Forever. She would be cursed with this horrendous curse 'till the day of her death.<p>

* * *

><p>"Dad? Am I doing this?" the eight year old looked at her hands.<p>

"My darling, yes, you are. But I don't know how," the King said, kneeling down to her height.

Amanda gasped. Snowflakes exploded from her hands and made intricate patterns in the air. She cautiously regained her balance, and the whole floor became an ice rink. She tentatively stretched out her hands, and part of the floor was soon covered with snow.

America came over and brought the little girl some gloves. "This should help," she said softly. "Remember, Amanda: Conceal it, don't feel it. Don't let it show. And most importantly, don't let them know,"

"Conceal it, don't feel it. Don't let it show, and don't let them know," the little girl repeated.

"Good girl," America said, kissing the top of her head.

* * *

><p>Each day, Amanda would secretly practice her special power. It was one no one else had, and it was beautiful. She learned how to control it, to control the amount of snow or ice appeared. The also learned how to hide it so the maids wouldn't notice.<p>

One boring afternoon, when Amanda was idly making ice patterns on a nearby wall, she remembered how, when she was younger, made a snowman called Olaf with her mother. She decided to try that now.

She threw out her hands so a small amount of snow appeared before her. Amanda created the snowman with a carrot nose she stole from the kitchen (shhh!), and pencil arms, googling eyes, and a button mouth. She stepped back and marveled at her masterpiece.

_Cute_.

A knock on the door suddenly interrupted Amanda's snowman-decorating. She hastily hid the snowman, which she decided to call Olaf II, behind her curtains.

"Come in!" She said. Her mother walked through the door and closed it behind her.

"Hello, Amanda." She said. "It's time for lunch." She suddenly noticed the trail of snow on the floor. The Queen's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Amanda Aphrodite Schreave," she started. The eleven-year old girl's eyes widened. Hearing her full name was never a good sign.

"Um, yea?"

"Were you using your powers again?"

Crap.

Busted!

"Uhhh … yea," she said, suddenly interested at her shoes.

But to her utter surprise, her mother bursted out laughing. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Uhh … since I got my powers?" she asked meekly.

"Show me what you did today. And don't fool me. The trail on the floor tells me you are up to something."

Reluctantly, the Princess gently pulled aside the curtain, revealing Olaf II. "Um, here it is. I call him Olaf the Second. 'Cuz, remember our first Olaf?" Not waiting for an answer, she continues on. "So, I decided to name this one after Olaf the first!"

The Queen smiled.

"So … you're not mad?" Amanda questions.

"A little. But I can see why you did what you did. Show me outside, after lunch, okay?"

The girl nods.

* * *

><p>"Wow!" and "Ooh!" and gasps filled the hallway. The few maids and butlers who knew about the Princess' secret, and the King and Queen watched their little princess perform her talent.<p>

She finished by bringing out her snowman, Olaf II. "Mom, Dad, I think we shouldn't hide this secret any longer. I already mastered it. And it's not like it'll go out of control. Please?"

She did have a point.

"Alright," America finally agreed.

* * *

><p>"Are you ready, everyone?" she shouts.<p>

"Ready!" The townspeople yell back.

She sets her foot on the ground, and ice starts to spread everywhere. She blows snowflakes into the air and creates snow piles for everyone to enjoy.

"Wa-hoo!" someone yells and falls into the snow. Another creates a snowman. Amanda looks around.

There is joy everywhere.

* * *

><p>The evil fairy Elsa stared at the happy citizens. <em>It wasn't supposed to end like this!<em> She inwardly screamed. _NO! _

Princess Amanda was supposed to be cursed, not blessed.

But she realized something.

The little Princess didn't need a curse to be happy. She just needed to be herself. And if something bad got in the way, she'd make it good again. That was her true gift.

And she kinda … okay, more like totally … forgot what made her so angry eleven years ago. All the anger for whatever circumstance had long faded.

So there was one thing left to do.

She entered the village.

With her glittering presence, there was no mistaking her. It was a fairy. The citizens parted the way Moses parted the Red Sea. She stepped through and kneeled before their Majesties and Her Highness.

"Please, don't bow, Ma'am, please don't! Rise!" Princess Amanda said, helping the old fairy up.

"Thank you, my darling. Please forgive me. I was the one who evoked that curse on you years ago." Gasps came from all around the square. "Please forgive me, your Highness. I have learned that that is not your gift. Your true gift is the gift of being able to see the best in everything, even in the worst. I gave you a curse, you turned it into a beautiful, unique, powerful gift. Will you ever forgive me, your Highness?" she asked.

Princess Amanda got up and approached the fairy and gave her a hug. "Yes, I forgive you," she said softly, smiling.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>

**Reviews:**

**PrincessIndia: Thanks! Yea, I think all of us are dying. Austin, Texas? My friend used to live there. :P Thanks!**

**going for the win: Thanks! Yea, good observation!**

**Theoneforever: No, it was Char at a younger age. Remember, Jake is her brother, Cel is her best friend, Kurt and Jake were babies, and Sherri wasn't born yet. Thanks! Here's the update!**

**HorseGalFangirl9 (2): Thanks! That was just a clarification. **

**Gremlins: Um, no. It's still the same author. I merely just changed the title. But thanks for reading anyway!**

**-K**

**P.S. Sorry it wasn't so well written. It was really hard for me to write this.**


	11. Chapter 11

**It's been too long! It has been—what, a month? A month and a half?—since I updated. Oops?**

**Big, big, announcement for you guys! In case you missed the announcement last week on my other story, ****_The Beginning of the End_****, I am adopting a Divergent story! User Cali-is-my-home has ever so graciously allowed me to continue her story. So, you will see it in three months! (More or less. It will be posted about two weeks after I finish ****_The Beginning of the End_****)**

**And OH. MY. GOSH! DID YOU HEAR?! Kiera Cass gave us some more news about the Heir! The cover has been released, and the Schreave girl is born seven minutes earlier than her brother! The girl is called Eadlyn Schreave, and the boy is called Ahren Schreave. Go to kieracass . com for more info! Just delete the spaces in the link. As you can see, I'm very excited. I found out two minutes ago and I'm soooooo excited!**

**Without further ado, here's the story!**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

><p>•Caught•<p>

Clarkson pulls me closer as his hands slip around my waist. I lean against his chest, and sigh in contentment. He kisses me, over and over. On the mouth, nose, cheeks, neck—everywhere. I start to kiss back until I realize that we shouldn't be doing this. "Clarkson," I whisper against his mouth, "we have to stop. What if he catches us?"

"No need to worry, my dear," he says reassuringly. "If he does—and there is a very slight chance that he will—I will manage to do something. Cook up some lie or something. Just trust me."

I nod, reassured, and he pulls me tighter into his embrace. It is a little tight, but not to the point of feeling uncomfortable. His breath smells like peppermints, probably due to the fact that he was chewing on the mints when I arrived. I wrap my arms around his broad back—or try to, at least. I am only reach halfway around. He starts to kiss me again and I return the favour. "If he comes, I will have to yell at you, and pretend to whip you. Don't you worry, my dear—" Clarkson warns.

"Clarkson, I'm not your dear," I remind him, exasperated. I sit back up and turn around, fake glaring at him. What _is it_ with the Royals calling people their dear?

"Yes, yes. Right," Clarkson says. "I'm just so used to it. Not calling you 'my dear' will take some getting used to,"

I roll my eyes.

"If he comes, _America_, I will pretend to whip you or something, but don't worry. I will not let the leather touch you." Clarkson continues. "It is pretty logical that Maxon will try to save you, even if it means getting harmed in the process." He stops, laughs, and shakes his head. "How unfortunate that he loves you so much, Ames, but you despise him so. What a pity," he says mockingly.

"Don't tease him like that, it's not his problem," I defend him. "It's mine. He never really appealed to me anyway. Not even from the very beginning."

His eyebrows fly up. "Oh, so you are defending him, hmm?" he comments. "That's a first."

I punch his shoulder as hard as I can, which, probably to him, feels like a fly landed on his shoulder. As old as he is, he has lots of muscle—he is in better shape as most men half his age. He probably can lift 130 pounds—or more, maybe. I don't know. I can see his muscles on his back outlining his dress shirt. His blazer was tossed somewhere in his study when I got here.

It's true, though. Maxon loves me like crazy, and I don't love him at all. He's really weak—physically and mentally, slightly annoying, and … oh, forget it. If someone asked me to list all the reasons I loathe the prince—it'd probably take up two and a half pages. Honestly, I don't get why so many girls adore him so much. Clarkson is _so_ much better!

I smile as his lips brush mine once more. I feel his arms circle around me once more, begging for me to lean back on his chest. I oblige, and once again, feel his toned muscles on his chest.

"It's such a shame that I have to put on this façade that I hate you," Clarkson whispers in my ear. "If anything, I should be calling that brown-haired three—Tris? Jess? Something like that. _She's_ the one who deserves to be called that, not you. To me, you're an angel, you're simply perfect."

"It's Kriss," I correct him with a laugh. I kiss him again and melt into it. Sparks fly the moment our lips touch.

Suddenly the door flies open without anyone knocking. Clarkson and I fly apart, startled. Maxon is on the other end, his eyes glancing around anxiously. He appears to be looking for someone. Me.

"You worthless Five," Clarkson screams at me. I know that he is just bluffing; pretending to hate me, but it positively breaks my heart. Maxon's eyes widen. I look up as I see Clarkson wrap his hand around his belt. Not the one he was wearing, of course. One that was just lying around; waiting to draw some blood, probably. Only it won't happen. Not now, at least. Or would it?

I know that Clarkson said that he wouldn't lay a finger on me. I know that he keeps his promises. I trust him. But then why am I so scared? I pretend to cry, pinching my arm as hard as I can to make it more believable. "Maxon," I cry, reaching my non-pinched arm out to him.

"Get out of here, Maxon!" Clarkson roars at him. Gosh, he can be really terrifying at times. Maxon just ignores his and tries to run to me to gather me in his arms. Keyword: Tries. Clarkson blocks his way to me, whip in hand. He slaps it over and over on the hardwood floor. _Thump, thump, thump_.

Strangely enough, the rhythm causes Maxon's eyes to widen in fear. _Now_ he was scared? What a weakling. Only when Clarkson pulls a gun on him and buries it on his head—which will never happen—should he be scared. Not now. Clarkson isn't even hitting him! Wimp.

"Father, stop it!" Maxon yells at his father. I sigh inaudibly and mentally shake my head. That's disrespectful and rude. Children are taught to obey their elders, no matter what their Caste. Ones are no different.

Clarkson's eyes narrow at his son. "What did you say?" he asks threateningly, advancing on him.

"F-f-father, stop it," Maxon says, his voice shaking a little. Otherwise, if I had not heard that tremor in his voice, I would've been convinced that he was brave, or maybe fearless.

Clarkson backs away from Maxon. "Fine," he spits. "Take the girl and leave. I don't want to see you again."

Maxon runs over to me and picks me up. He whispers soothing words in my ear, "There, there," he says comfortingly, in a voice that would make the other girls faint—or melt. But not me. "The worse is over, America. You're safe now." He carries me back to my room and I stumble over to my bed, pretending to cry. I sob and sob. "Go away," I yell at him.

I can visualize his shoulders slumping as I say those words. He sighs. "Alright, America," he says, quietly, almost to the point that I can't hear his words. "I'll leave you be, then."

When he closes the door, I count to five hundred in my head to see if anyone will come. No one does. I guess Maxon told my maids to leave me alone for a while. I count to another three hundred, just to make sure. I mean, you can never to too cautious, right?

* * *

><p>The next thing I know, Lucy is shaking me awake. Oh. Oops. I must've fallen asleep while counting. "Miss," she asks, her eyes filled with worry. "Are you alright? His Highness said that you were upset. Is there anything we can do for you?"<p>

I shake my head. "I think I'm fine, Lucy," I say, sitting up. "But thanks anyway."

"And besides," an excited voice exclaims in the corner, "you got a note from Prince Maxon!"

Mary brings it over and hands it to me. Anne shoots her a look that says, "Control yourself." On the front, it has my name, America, printed on with an elegant, flowing script.

I rip open the seal, not bothering to leave it in one piece. Clarkson sometimes arranged meetings with me this way. But no … it's from Maxon Schreave. I pull out a thick white piece of paper. I open it and it reads:

_America,_

_Please meet me in the library. I have something special planned for you. Just wear your day dresses and you'll be fine. See you there at 5:30_

_Love, Maxon_

I force a smile and try to squeal. "It's a date!" I cry, excited. Lucy and Mary jump up and down. I see Anne suppress a smile, and it doesn't work. I can see how excited she is.

"Come on, let's get ready!" Lucy squeals, and pulls me out of my comfortable bed. She and Anne immediately start brushing my hair and doing my makeup while Mary gets the dress ready. "So how long do we have?"

"Um …" I falter. I can't turn my head to see it. "What time is it?" I ask Mary, who is closest to the clock in my room.

"4:56," she answers.

"Oh … um, girls, you only have about half an hour to prepare." I say.

"What?!" Lucy asks indignantly. "That's not enough time!" She increases the speed of her fingers doing my hair. They fly around my head, quickly, and within three minutes, she's finished. My hair is in a wrap-around braid, and ends as a bun. It's beautiful. I admire my hair in the reflection of the mirror in the bathroom.

"Close your eyes," Anne commands, and I do. I feel the brush across my cheeks, and next, the powder on my face. "Look up," she says, and I do. She applies mascara to my eyelashes. "Done!" she says.

"Okay, America, step into the dress, please." Mary requests. I do and the three of them heft the dress up. It is a beautiful lavender colour, with a rose pinned onto my left shoulder, and slopes down, so the right side of the dress is strapless. It ends mind-thigh, and at the bottom, the lavender turns into a slightly darker purple. She hands me my shoes, and they are flats, with beads circling the heel. My red hair gives me the impression that I am calm, but wild. The makeup on my eyes portrays me as dangerous.

It's true. The eye makeup tells the truth. I am playing a dangerous game, but it's worth it.

"Thank you girls," I squeal, and exit out of the room. I head downstairs, to the library on the second floor. I push open the heavy wooden doors that are so intricately carved and step inside.

Clarkson stands in the centre of the rug, waiting. "Clarkson?" I inquire, curious.

"It's _Maxon_, if you will," he corrects, humour sparkling in his eyes.

I laugh and run to him, and he embraces me. I kiss him, and he kisses back. Suddenly, without warning, the door flings open. Clarkson and I are too tangled in each other's arms to separate. I can just look on, shocked, but Clarkson looks furious.

Queen Amberly and Prince Maxon stand at the doorway, frozen. "Clarkson?" Amberly cries, sobbing.

"America?" Maxon questions, equally stunned.

Caught.

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><p><strong>Haha, this is pretty much impossible to write. AS you all probably know, I stink at makeup and girly-girl things. The only reason I know about the makeup things and how you put them on is because I was watching my friend put it on Tuesday. Kinda awkward, if you ask me. So … ya. Did I get anything wrong about the makeup? Tell me in the reviews!<strong>

**So sorry I didn't update my other story! I'm sick, and in a foul mood (due to the fact that I am grumpy when I am sick—lol, don't ask). And when you combine those two together … let's just say that things are not going to end well. The only reason I posted this is because I wrote this a few days ****_prior_**** to getting sick. But I was too busy to post then. If you would like to see America's hairdo, here's the link:**

** www . pinterest pin / 505880970612939455 /**

**Where there are spaces, delete them. As for the dress … sorry! I just made it up with my own imagination. I think? I don't know, I have a pretty active imagination. **

**Reviews!**

**Gremlins: Haha, I know what you mean. I liked the movie at first, but after it got too popular and seeing FROZEN posters and everything at every corner, I grew really sick of it. Thanks!**

**Theoneforever: Lol. Ya, they are. Thanks!**

**SelectedDivergentShadowhunter: Is this what you define as action? Thanks!**

**EruditeAbnegationMockinjay: Ya, I agree. Amberly is so sweet, and Celeste needs to TELL us her story! But ilona18 pretty much covers that :P Thanks!**

**RQOTD: Did a movie ever make you cry?**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-Kiren**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hi guys!**

**Here's another one-shot! For those of you who also read my other fanfic, ****_The Beginning of the End_****, sorry I didn't update. It's kinda hard to update two fanfics regularly, between babysitting, school, homework, piano, sleep, and stuff like that :(**

**Happy reading!**

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><p>•Lies•<p>

"I love you, America Singer. Never forget that. I will find a way so we can be together. Always. Believe me. I love you, America. See you in the morning."

Those were his last words to me.

At that time, I believed it. Fully. I put his words close to my heart. He told me I was his and he was mine. WAS. Not anymore. I was his this morning, and this afternoon, and this evening. But not now. Everything changed. Maybe, maybe, _maybe_, if it was a less extreme situation, I would've forgiven him, loved him once more. But it won't happen. Not this time. I know for certain that those sugar-coated words are false. He never did mean that. He did that so he could make me stay and confuse my heart even more.

I hate him.

With all my heart.

* * *

><p>…10 hours earlier…<p>

Maxon walks me to my room. Aspen is there, guarding my door. Even with my back turned, I can feel him glaring at me. At us. At our entwined hands. At our happy smiles, beaming at each other. At our obvious love for each other. I ignore Aspen. Who I choose to love, who I choose to date, who I devote myself to—this is none of his business. His opens the door, and we step into it, simultaneously. He shuts the door behind us, and we sit on the bed, just talking. Nothing sweet, nothing hot, nothing inappropriate, nothing imitate. We just talk. We get to know each other more, but this isn't the basics this time—it goes deeper. Our struggles, our worries, our dreams, our wishes, everything we want to talk about and anything that comes to mind.

A while afterwards, Maxon turns and faces me, his hand never leaving mine, his eyes never wandering away from my blue ones. He smiles an apologetic smile at me. "I wish I could stay longer with you, but I have a meeting with my dad."

Still sitting up on my bed, I embrace Maxon and he gives me a peck on the cheek, his muscular arms wrapped around my slim waist. "I love you, America Singer. Never forget that. I will find a way so we can be together. I know my father doesn't approve, but I love you. One day, I know we will be together." His tone is fierce, filled with determination. "Always. Believe me. I love you, America. See you in the morning," he huskily whispers in my ear. We stay in that position for a little while longer, neither of us wanting to let go of the other.

Finally, I pull back and give him a smile in return. "Good night, Maxon." He leaves my room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

My maids come in after he leaves and help me take out all the pins in my hair, change into my nightgown, get me ready for bed. I thank them profusely for their help, and proceed to dismiss the girls and promptly crawl into bed.

For some reason, I can't sleep tonight. Usually, I fall asleep the moment my head touches the pillow, but tonight, it's different. It's like some unknown _force_ wants to keep me awake. Oh. Suddenly I realize why it is. I had a cup of brown liquid—coffee?—this morning. Apparently coffee keeps one awake (that's what he warned me, at least), and I had paid Maxon's words no heed. I had downed the drink. I toss and turn for a while before deciding that some fresh air will help me sleep.

I put a robe over my nightgown and head outside, to the gardens. I don't bother putting on shoes. I prefer the feeling of grass and dirt on my feet rather than heels.

I spot the guards at the entrance of the gardens and acknowledge them with a nod. Thank goodness Maxon knows me so well. He knows I love to be in the garden, so he told the guards that I can go out into the garden anytime I want, except from 11pm to 4am, when there are significantly fewer guards patrolling the palace and garden. Thankfully, it's only 10 o' clock right now.

The guards open the doors for me wordlessly. I rush out and let the cool, soothing air rest on my arms, my face, everywhere. I take in a deep breath. Freedom. I love it.

I walk, I run, I skip. I know I must look ridiculous but I don't care. This is freedom. This is me, without any rules on how to act, how to be a lady. That lady is not me. Lady America is not me. No the real me, at least. This is me; America Singer a Five, who loves to run and play music. I may be a Three, caste-wise, but in my heart, I am a Five. That will not change.

I don't know where to go to next, but my feet do. I find myself near our bench. I turn the corner.

Bad idea.

Really bad idea.

I see Maxon first. Maybe he wanted some fresh air, too. But no. I don't see her at first, the shadows conceal her. I don't see her, but I can hear her. Crystal clear.

Kriss.

It's Maxon and Kriss, sitting on the bench. OUR bench.

I try to calm myself. I try to give myself some good reasons on how they got there. Maybe Maxon and Kriss just happened to bump into each other. Maybe Kriss wanted to ask for advice for something. Maybe she needs support because her family is going through a hard time. Maybe Maxon is telling Kriss that he is eliminating her.

I hope it's the latter. _Please, please, please, let it be_.

But it isn't.

I see Maxon's figure put an arm around Kriss. I hear giggles, whispers, hushed laughter. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what is happening. And what happened.

They're on a date. Maxon lied to me about his meeting with his dad. He lied to me. He lied to me. He. Lied. To. Me.

I can't believe it. I clench my hands into fists.

I was a fool, believing all his lies, all his words, all his promises. But not anymore. This game ends. Now. I'm leaving. But not before I watch them a little longer, to see how it unfolds. I shouldn't be eavesdropping, I know that. But I don't care.

I see Maxon taking his arm off her and reaching into something. His pocket, maybe? After a while, I see him pull out an object. It sparkles and shines. It glitters under the stars.

It's a ring.

Maxon says something inaudible. I strain to hear it.

The next part, I have no trouble hearing. Kriss squeals in delight.

Maxon chuckles, and says something. Kriss laughs, and they speak together, in hushed whispers. I crawl closer to hear them. Thank goodness for the amount of trees here in the garden and around the bench. They conceal me perfectly. "Anything for my dear." He kisses her forehead. "And promise me, Kriss, that you will wear it always."

"Of course, Maxon. Wait, are you saying ..."

"You'll have to wait and see," he says. "My father says I need one more elimination before I can propose to one of you. And I'm not going to give it away."

I don't want to hear anymore. I've heard enough.

I don't want to stay anymore. Even if it's not me who's going to leave, I will do it willingly. I've had enough of his game.

I walk back to my room, a mask concealing my true feelings. I pull out my suitcase and start packing. It doesn't take long. I leave the presents from Maxon behind. I'm not taking then anywhere. He can give it to someone else for all I care. I then sleep on my ultra-comfortable bed for the last time.

* * *

><p>I wake up just as the sun does. I have one more thing to do before I tell my maids of my departure. I open the door. Just as I hoped, Aspen is there. "Psst, Aspen!" I hiss.<p>

"Yes, Lady America?" He asks.

I groan. "Please don't call me that. Aspen, I'm leaving the Selection. So, anything you want me to do? Anything you want to send home?"

"Mer ... Really? You're leaving?" He's surprised. I can tell.

I roll my eyes, exasperated at his unbelief. "Yes, Aspen. I'm leaving."

He hesitates. "Well, in that case ... Okay. I trust you, and only you. I know you love my family as much as I do. I'll be right back. My shift's over, anyways." A guard comes down the hall. "Oh, there he is. Mer, this is Officer Avery. He and I usually relieve each other's shifts." He runs and disappears around the corner.

Aspen comes back a while later with an envelope of money. "Give them to my family. I already sent in my monthly wages, but these are a little extra I've been saving up ever since I came here."

I take it and tuck it between two pieces of clothing in my suitcase. "It won't get lost, I promise."

"Thanks, Mer." He shoots me a grateful smile.

I disappear inside my room to write two letters; one to Maxon to explain why I was leaving, the other to Silvia to thank her for all she taught me. I finish writing the letters.

_Dear Silvia,_

_Thank you for all that you have taught me here, during my stay at the Palace. I have learned so much, and none of this could've been achieved without you. However, although I would love to stay and learn more from you, alas, I cannot. I am leaving the Selection. I will not include the reasons, but I think, it's for the better. _

_You're a wonderful teacher, and I—and the rest of the Selected—are so very thankful to have taken lessons with you—however much time they spent with you, it was important. I hope that the rest of the Elite know how fortunate they are to have you teach them. _

_I'm sorry if I caused you any trouble. It wasn't my intention; but I guess my temper got in the way of my rational thinking. I will always remember what you have taught me and use it on my daily life, now. _

_Thank you _so _much for teaching me._

_Yours truly,_

_Lady America Singer _

Maxon's letter was more difficult for me to write. But I manage to. I express anger, sadness, heartbreak in the folded piece of paper.

I go back to sleep for a little longer. The next time I wake up, I ring for my maids, my wonderful, kind, gentle maids, one last time. They burst into my room. "America, you're up!" Mary exclaims, surprised.

I sigh. "Yeah. Girls, I have to tell you something. And … it's not good, I'm afraid. I'm leaving the Selection," I say bluntly, sadness seeping into my voice. No use beating around the bush.

Lucy gasps. "Why? America ... We really thought you had a chance." She hugs me. This time, Anne doesn't stop her. Mary and Anne join her. We cry, we hug, we talk about my time here. I will really miss them. Not only are they my maids, they are my friends, my companions, my confidants.

At last, we break apart. Anne insists that I being home a few dresses, to remember them by. I agree. They are amazing. I pick the dress I first wore at the Selection, and three others.

I have one last request for them. "Girls, please give these two letters to Silvia and Prince Maxon. Their names are on the front. And will one of you please notify the King and Queen of my departure, and will the other have a guard drive me there?"

They nod, quickly wiping their tears away. I give them one last hug and hand Lucy the letters. They curtsy as they leave.

I walk out of the palace. Sure enough, there is a car waiting for me to take me to the airport. And behind the wheel is no other than Aspen. Another guard opens my door and lets me in. He shuts the door, and Aspen drives off.

* * *

><p>He arrives at the airport pretty quickly. He opens the door and ushers me out. I thank him. "Aspen … I just want to say one thing before I leave. I realize that I still like you. I thought I could override my feelings for you, but I can't. And now that I'm out of the Selection …" I don't need to finish the sentence. He understands. "I'll write a letter soon, Mer. We can discuss it there."<p>

I hug him and tell him to take care. It's unnecessary, though. He's a fighter. It will take more than a bullet to take down Aspen Leger. Then he hands me my now-overflowing suitcase and I board the plane heading to Carolina. To a new future, one without Maxon Schreave.

* * *

><p>…7 months later…<p>

I don't regret my decision. Some may say I was too mad to be thinking clearly, but no. They're wrong. I thought about it. Some may say I was a fool to not be in the competition of a lifetime, but I don't think that is the way to meet your true love. And in the end, this is the correct choice. Aspen and I are together again. He even got permission from King Clarkson (!) for me, his fiancée—yes, fiancée—to stay in the palace with him after we got married, which would be sometime in the next year or so. And King Clarkson agreed, surprisingly. I guess the moment I left the Selection, his hate for me died down. He still hates me, that's for sure, but I think that he's just happy that I'm not with his son. As of right now, I'm still in Carolina. My family are still Fives, but I send them money as often as I can, which is about twice a month.

I'm so excited. I can see my maids again! We have still kept in touch with each other, sending letters and so forth, but it's hard, because as a maid, their schedules are often packed. Maxon, obviously, has married Kriss. I'm happy for them. I'm no longer heartbroken, although I have to admit that I was bit pissed that he lied to me. Oh well, Aspen's a better boyfriend—and fiancé!—than he'll ever be.

But when the invitation for all of the Selected girls arrived …

* * *

><p><strong>Ooh, will Maxerica come back? You'll see! Do you think Maxon was really lying? You'll find out soon—his version of the story will come next!<strong>

**I'm really tired; I won't be answering reviews today. But I loved them; and dear The Queen Reader, your reviews are pretty funny. Especially the one with me getting whacked in the head with a mallet :P**

**RQOTD: What is the weirdest nickname someone has ever given you?**

**Answer to RQOTD (Chapter 11): Fault in Our Stars …**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-K**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hi guys!**

**Here's another one-shot. **_**And**_** a nice (not really) fluffy scene for you as a (late—sorry!) Christmas treat! Obviously, I didn't write that part. If you have seen my failed attempts at love in my earlier one-shots… it sucks :P**

**So, it order to spare you the torture of **_**that**_** again, I have asked my friend to write the cute Maxerica scene for you! I think she did an excellent job :) **_**Much, much, much**_** better than how I could've done it, at least. If you would like to follow her, her penname is "tfios . hazelgracelancaster". :) **

**Happy reading!**

* * *

><p>•Just One Kiss•<p>

I sit on our bed, the mattress sinking beneath my weight. I steal a glance at the clock sitting on the dresser. _11:45_. I sigh, my fingers tapping impatiently on my lap. When will Maxon ever come? I wonder. My eyes drift to the objects in my room. Our bathroom. Our dresser and closet. Our bed, our pictures, our memories. And my piano. Just the sight of it brings a smile to my lips. My piano. My beautiful mahogany, piano, sitting it a corner, neglected and unused. I rise from my bed and head toward the piano. I run my fingers lovingly over it, my fingertips wiping the dust away. I take the nearby duster and sweep the rest of the dust off, lift the lid up, and begin to play. I choose a piece called "L'isle joyeuse" by a composer whose name has been lost decades ago. My fingers fly over the keys. It is a difficult piece, but I, being a seasoned player, conquer it with ease. Suddenly broad arms wrap around me. I ignore him and continue playing. At last, I finish the piece and turn around, just to see Maxon looking at me.

"Damn," he says quietly, looking at me with admiration. "You really are a master at piano."

I tilt my head, confused. I don't remember ever telling him that I played the piano well. Sure, I have played piano for him, but none of those pieces were at the same level as this one.

Noting my expression, he hastens to explain, "Your mother and May are always gushing about your ability to play." He pauses for a moment, thinking. "But," he continues, "I have not believed them until now. Your ability to bring the emotions out of the song, America, are beyond expectations. I could almost, _almost_, feel myself being there, inside the song, experiencing the on-goings happening in there. I'm not trying to butter you up, Ames, or saying this just because I am your husband and husbands always have to compliment their spouse. I am saying this, my darling, because I mean it, America. Truly."

I blush and stare at my hands. Even when I was a Five, or a Selected girl, stuck inside the palace, playing the piano, never has anyone praised me how Maxon did. "Thanks," I mumble.

"Now," Maxon says, lifting my chin up with one finger. I gaze into his chocolate brown eyes, so full of love and admiration. "No need to get embarrassed or ashamed. It it true; you don't need to deny it. And," he adds, our sweet moment over, "didn't I promise my darling to learn how to fight? Let's go!" He runs out of the room, racing down the hall. I sigh and follow him. He _did_ promise me, but I was reluctant to agree. Oh, well. Guess I'll have to endure the next two hours or so.

* * *

><p>"Okay, I think you may have learned enough to have a spar with me." He says after an hour of showing me the ropes and tricks of sparring. My eyes widen. A single thought runs through my mind. <em>What if he hurts me? What if he accidentally stabs with with his spear?<em> Immediately guilt rushes through me. I know he won't. As if sensing my thoughts, he adds gently, "I'm not going to hurt you, Ames. I promise." I trust him. I believe that he won't. A silent mantra runs through my head. _I trust him, he's not going to hurt me_.

He keeps his word. We spar. He goes easy on me, I can tell. Our spears clash, the lighting in the ceiling on the training room making the silver shine. I make a jab to his right side, and he dodges to the left. He aims a hit on my left shoulder. Instead of dodging, which I am best at, I raise my spear and meet his. "Good!" Maxon shouts in approval, all the while dodging my attacks. I grit my teeth and aim, with all my might, try to hit his chest, while trying to cover up my moves and pretending to hit his right shoulder. He moves his arm to block my shot and my spear hits him square-on on the chest. He staggers, but quickly recovers. Maxon fakes a left, and I move my arm to block him. Then, as fast as lightning, he changes his course and his spear flies towards my chest, and hits it dead-on. Unbalanced, surprised, and startled, I fall backwards. Taken off guard by the change of momentum, Maxon falls on top of me, but recovers quicker than I. He pushes himself to a sitting position, his legs straddling my waist.

He laughs and starts tickling me while I giggle and squirm. He starts to playfully kiss me everywhere—nose, cheeks, mouth, neck. I start laughing and kiss him back. I flashback to that the time when he first slept with me, in my bedroom while the Selection was still going on, when he first attacked me with kisses. Our kisses deepen and and I reach up and wrap my arms around him and feel his strong body against me. He groans and kisses the nape of my neck. I slide my hands around to his front and slowly unbutton the top of his shirt and then the second button. Then the third. Then the fourth one. I know I should stop but I don't want to, I want him and am going crazy. His hand slides up my thigh, underneath my day dress and he slowly slides his hand up and I kiss him harder. A sigh escapes me and then it turns into a groan as he slowly bites my lower lip. His hands slide to my back and I feel him unbutton the first button of the dress. I realize with a start that we really need to stop, but I don't want to. He kisses me harder and I grip him. Finally, reluctantly, I pull away.

"Maxon," I say—mumble, actually—against his lips, "We should stop this." I feel his lips leave mine, slowly, and the weight on his body disappears from my chest. I immediately miss the warmth of him. "I don't think Illéa would be pleased to find out that the heir to the throne was conceived, uh, on the Training Room floor," I add, attempting to suppress my laughter. I hear him chuckle, amused.

Maxon takes me by the hand, and helps me up from our position on the Training Room floor. The adrenaline and euphoria that skyrocketed during, well, _that_, slowly drains from my body, leaving me flushed and panting. My face feels hot, and, I bet, with my flaming red hair and my flushed face, I look like a flame. A walking flame. Brilliant. Curse my red hair.

As if sensing my thoughts, Maxon says, with a hint of mischievousness in his voice, "Ames, we don't look like anything happened in the Training Room." I smile, which quickly turns into a muffled giggle, and in turn increases to a laugh. I cover my mouth with my left hand, as my right was entwined with his, in an attempt to conceal my laughter. It isn't very successful.

Recovering to my senses, I put my laughter to a halt. "Max!" I exclaim, pushing him playfully against the wall. "How _vulgar_ of you!" I imitate Silvia's exasperated voice. "Kings should not act like this!"

He kneels on the ground before me, and puts his hands up, mocking a surrender. "Okay, okay, as you wish, my Queen,"

I roll my eyes. I swear, sometimes, I don't know whether he is twenty or fourteen.

My husband gets up from his position and whispers into my ear, "No one should know of this, right?" He asks me.

"No! Of course not!" I exclaim. He wordlessly spreads his hands, as if to say, _Just making sure!_ I have a feeling that Maxon will be teasing me about this … _incident_ … for many years to come.

Damn that stupid kiss.

* * *

><p><strong>So! Hope you liked that!<strong>

**Reviews (For Chapters 11 **_**and**_** 12):**

**The Queen Reader (all): **

Chapter 1**: Sorry mate. That's how I roll :P When I read your review, I literally laughed for five minutes straight. :P**

Chapter 2**: Well … I didn't say that! He'd just … look different, I guess? Ya, I'm an evil writer. I think you guys can confirm that :)**

Chapter 3**: Yum! **

Chapter 4**: Percy Jackson rocks :) Bring some ice cubes along so your brain won't melt, then :P**

Chapter 5**: 'Sweet mother of burning pineapples'?! What the heck is **_**that**_**?! That phrase is one-of-a-kind, that's for sure. Uh … who's Andrew? OH ha, I just scrolled back to Chapter 5 because I had no clue what you were talking about. And … no, it isn't :)**

Chapter 11**: True … but I think it would be awkward for Eadlyn or Ahren to walk in on her parents making out … just … no. Maybe there can be a Prologue what includes some Maxerica fluff? I dunno.**

Chapter 12**: Haha, yea, it's "sort of" dead. Okay, then I will get Maxon to be my bodyguard so I won't get hit with a spiked mallet … I'm sure he'd enjoy that. Kung fu, ju-jitsu—either way, I'm still screwed. That's why Maxon is there to protect me—**_**and**_** be my human shield :P Lol. Thanks!**

**EruditeAbnegationMockinjay: Thanks!**

**Olive20021: Lol, ya. Pretty much. Thanks!**

**HorseGalFangirl9: Ya, it's sooooo AU! Thanks! And I don't know if there will be a part two … probably not :( I feel like the one-shot should end where it does because it allows readers to imagine what would happen next … some stories are actually like that, such as Fault in Our Stars/An Imperial Affliction (the story inside Fault in Our Stars). We don't know what happens to Hazel/Anna, so we can only imagine. Thanks!**

**Fairy not princess: It probably won't happen, but who knows? Things might change. Thanks!**

**RQOTD: Did you enjoy Christmas?**

**Answer to RQOTD (Chapter 11): Yep, Fault in Our Stars. And I never cry over movies, so that's a first. Thanks a lot, Josh Boone, for making me cry :/**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-K**


	14. Chapter 14

**I swear, I seriously thought that I had posted this already, but it turns out that I didn't. Oops?**

**Maxon's side of the story to 'Lies'! I know everyone is dying to know what happened, so here it is! **

**And okay, I might've lied. I dunno if it's still a three-shot. It might be a four-shot. Then that's pretty much a mini-story, isn't it? I really don't know, it depends on how much my fingers insist on typing :P So, there ****_may_**** be a fourth chapter, but don't count on it.**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

><p>•Heartbroken•<p>

Heartbroken. That's how I feel. Heartbroken. This was my dad's plan all along. I was a fool to figure it out. I was too blind to see an evil man's scheme.

"I love you, America Singer. Never forget that. I will find a way so we can be together. Always. Believe me. I love you, America. See you in the morning." Those were my last words to her. I meant it with all my heart. But she doesn't believe me.

This is all my fault. I was too naïve.

And now, I've lost her forever.

* * *

><p>…10 hours earlier…<p>

I walk America to her room. "I love you, America Singer. Never forget that. I will find a way so we can be together. Always. Believe me. I love you, America. See you in the morning." I whisper in her ear. Then I leave. I hurry to my father's study. He called this meeting quite unexpectedly. I'm worried, to be honest. Did he catch me doing something wrong again? Will he whip me?

I nervously walk to his office. The guards let me in without hesitation.

"Hello, father," I say.

"Hello, good evening, son," he replies, searching for something among the piles on his desk. "Aha!" he triumphantly exclaims as he pulls out something shiny. A ring. "Maxon, I noticed that you haven't been spending time with Lady Kriss lately. You've always been spending time with that horrible Lady America. How many times do I have to tell you, Lady America is a bad influence? She is reckless, and she will ruin this country, and all my hard work!"

_What? _Where is he going with this?

"So, go on a date with Kriss. I will be watching you. Give her this ring. Show her that you still care for her, love her. If you don't, I will stage an 'accident' for Lady America. You hear me?" he demands, an ominous warning in his voice as he mentions the 'accident' he will prepare for America.

I nod, and he hands the ring over, into my outstretched palm.

He pushes me out the door. I wince when he hits a soft spot on my back from yesterday's whippings.

I walk to Kriss' room and knock on the door. "Kriss, care to join me on a walk?" I say, offering my arm out to her. She giggles and accepts, wrapping her hands around my bicep.

"You're lucky you came when you did. I was just about to take off my makeup, and I wouldn't want to put it back on again. Oh, but if that did happen, I might've put it back on, since it's you. I look terrible without makeup, really," she says, a light giggle lacing her words, as we walked out of her room. _What_? _Since when did she worry and fuss over her makeup and her looks?_ I close the door behind her and walk down the hall with her and step outside into the fresh cool air. It's almost completely dark, but the light from inside the palace and lanterns around the palace walls illuminate the path. I choose a nearby bench, sit on it, and gesture Kriss to do the same.

"I'm so glad I get to spend time with you," Kriss says. "I barely ever get to see you or even talk to you for a while now," she adds unhappily, laying her head on my shoulder. I smile and lay my head on top of hers. However, all this time, I am thinking of America, wishing it is her head laying of my shoulder, instead of Kriss'. I immediately feel guilty, of course, because Kriss is a wonderful girl, so sweet, kind, and caring. But she just can't compare to the fiery temper that America possesses.

The night air is brisk and I'm not one bit cold, but still, Kriss slides closer to me. "I'm a bit cold," she says, snuggling closer to me. Her nightgown and robe are kind of thick, but, I guess, judging by the fact that she has lived in Colombia for most of her life, she is used to the warmer winters there than the brisk cold here in Angeles. I wrap my arm around her. I can almost imagine her smile in the dark. We sit silently, like this, for a little while longer. "So …" I say, the silence enveloping us.

"So …" Kriss echoes.

"Well," I chuckle, "Let's start with something simple. How was your day?"

"That's a typical question!" Kriss protests.

"So?" I shoot back.

"It was good," she says finally, quietly. "My maids made a beautiful dress today. I love it! I don't know _how_ they make such wondrous dresses!" I nod my head in agreement. Her dress today was breath-taking. Of course, they can't compare to America's dresses … Ugh! I berate myself for thinking about America again. _You're on a date with Kriss, so concentrate!_ I reprimand myself.

"It's splendid," I say, gazing off towards the distance. "The night really is beautiful, isn't it?" I change the subject.

Kriss sighs with contempt. "Yeah, it is," she says. "The stars are really bright. Back in Colombia, I never saw stars so bright," her voice contains a hint of wistfulness, longing. I guess she misses her home. "Back in Colombia, the stars were just stars, I guess. But here … it's like it's come to life." She pauses, "But it's just because you're here," I can just about hear the smile in her voice.

I laugh. _Perfect moment to give her the ring_, I decide. "Kriss … look," I say simply, pulling the ring out of my jacket pocket. "Doesn't it shine like the stars?" _Wow_, I chide myself, _that's so cheesy_. Even Natalie wouldn't like that. But Kriss' reaction surprises me.

"It's so pretty," Kriss says, looking at the ring in wonder.

"It's for you," I say, setting the ring onto her outstretched palm. She squeals with delight. "You can keep it,"

"'May'," she corrects me, laughing. I groan. "Maxon, you should know this! It's proper and basic English! _Have you _not_ learned anything from Silvia_?"

"Ugh, close enough," I fake a pout. "And hey, I have learned quite a lot from Silvia, of course. I learned to be sexy," I say with a smirk, striking a pose.

Kriss slaps me lightly on the arm, while she attempts to keep a straight face. "A prince never says or does vulgar and inappropriate things," she says, echoing Silvia's words, and pretends to look cross with me. Her face betrays her as a smile breaks across her face. A slight rustle blows across the trees. The wind lifts Kriss' hair and blows it around, like it's dancing. "I'm warm now, thanks to you," she adds.

"Anything for my dear," I say, kissing her forehead. I know that I may be over-doing it but, who knows? My father may have spies watching us. I have to act the part, although Kriss really is a lovely girl. "Promise me, Kriss, that you will wear it always," I add, indicating the ring.

"Of course, Maxon," she says. Suddenly, she gasps. "Wait, are you saying…?!" Oh. Realization dawns on me. I repeat my words in my head, and I can see how misleading that sounds.

"You'll have to wait and see. "My father says I need one more elimination before I can propose to one of you. And as for who it is, if I have chosen already, I'm not going to give it away." I lower my voice down to a hushed whisper. "And besides, I'm giving all the Elite a gift; yours just happens to be a ring," I explain, hoping Kriss can't see through my white lie. "You just happened to get it first." I wish America got the ring. Curse my father.

She nods, comprehending.

We spend the rest of the date talking about random things, our friends, and even Rebel attacks. "I really don't like them," she said, blowing on her hands, to keep them warm. "I mean, who knows? You can die at that very attack." I nodded, and we both agreed that Rebel attacks are useless and that probably their only purpose of existence is to scare the living crap (to which Kriss said, "A prince never swears or curses!") out of every single one of us—maids, guards (who risk their lives to save us—they should be scared of them, right?), the Selected, the royals; everyone.

"Well, Lady Kriss, it's getting rather late, and I suggest that you retire to your room soon," I say, standing up. Kriss repeats the motion. I offer my arm to her, and that's how we walk back to the palace, up to her room. "Goodnight, my dear," I say, and hug her, due to the fact that she doesn't want me to kiss her. Not yet, anyway. The other Elite are okay about it, just not her.

"Good night, Maxon," she replies softly, smiling at me, and closes the door. I walk away and, upon arrival to my room, breathe out a sigh of relief.

* * *

><p>I wake up with the sun in my eyes. Oh, right. I left my curtains open before I retired to bed. Groaning, I stumble over to yank the blinds shut to I can return back to sleep. My long-time maid, Winnifred, enters just as I prepare to pull the covers over me once more. "Oh! You're up!" she exclaims, surprised.<p>

"No, I'm not," I mumble groggily, pulling the covers over my head.

"Yes, you are, Prince Maxon," she says, struggling to pull the blankets away from my grasp. "You'll have to get up anyway, sooner or later, so why not do it sooner? You only have ten minutes left, that's not a lot," she points out.

I groan again. She has a good point. Then I try to use an America tactic with her. "But, Winnifred, the blankets has accepted me as one of their own, and if I leave now, I might lose their trust!"

My maid laughs. "Up, up, up, Your Highness," she insists.

I sigh, knowing that I'm beaten, and drag myself to the bathroom to wash and get dressed. I go down to breakfast, where the Elite are seated. Kriss, Elise, Natalie, and … no America. Wait … her spot is just completely gone … no chair, no plate, no cutlery … just nothing. _What?_

Probably noting my confused expression, my father says, "Maxon, America left this morning." His voice sounds neutral, but underneath, I know him well enough, to defect that it is filled with subtle glee. _What? How? Why?_ Millions of questions are running through my mind. But one stands out: _Why did she leave me?_ It can't be true. A dozen emotions rushes through me. Silently, I place the fork back onto the plate. Looking that the food reminds me of America. Oh, how she loves food!

"I will eat breakfast in my room," I quietly say, and I walk out of the massive dining hall. I trudge up the stairs and push the door leading to my room open. I shut the door behind me and I sit on the bed, stunned. _Why?_ Why did she leave me? _Why, why why?_ I bury my face into my hands. I don't cry, but I want to. But I can't. My tears have left me. A hesitant knock comes, and reluctantly, after confirming that I am presentable and my sorrow is not evident on my face, I open the door, and find—Lucy, I think her name is?—at my door.

"Your Majesty," she says quietly. "Here is your requested breakfast,"

I sigh, and nods a thanks to her. "Please put it on my nightstand," I say. I am in no mood to be polite. Not when my love is gone to who-knows-where. Lucy places the tray on the designated location, and walks out. I reach over and pull the tray into my lap. A white folded piece of paper is underneath my bowl of fruit. My heart beats faster, hoping that it is from America. _Stupid__,_I mentally chide myself. _She's gone, you idiot. Why would she write a letter to you?_ Although, deep down, I know that she isn't coming back, a small sliver of me still continues to dream. I unfold the letter, and lo and behold … it's from America. "Maxon," I read.

_Maxon,_

_You don't have to figure out who you want to choose as the next Queen of Illéa. I hope that you have a great life with Kriss—_

At this point the letter tumbles out of my hand. I don't bend down to retrieve it. America thinks that I want to marry _Kriss_?! Sure, I don't deny it. She's nice, smart, and pretty. But all of her features are enhanced on the one I love, the one who got away—America. Although it kills me, I force myself to bend down, the up the paper, and keep on reading.

_I hope that you have a great future, wonderful children, and that you will never forget us—those in the Selection. Not Marlee, who got caned for being with who she loved; not Natalie, who left to grieve for her lost sister; no one. I believe that you will remember my request, although I am no longer in the selection: dissolve the Castes. Please. I believe, entirely, that you will make a great king. The citizens of Illéa will be lucky to have you, and to have Kriss rule by your side. _

Her tone drastically changes.

_Enough with this pleasant, sappy, typical chit-chat. I know you lied to me. Don't deny it. I saw it all._

Saw what all? I am confused.

_In case you suddenly got amnesia, let me give you a quick recap. You lied. You said that you had a meeting with your father. What a nice meeting it was, huh? _

My heart plummets. I have a bad feeling about this. I can just about hear her anger intensify.

_You liar. Your excuse for a meeting was a date with Kriss. I saw it all! I can't believe it. I fell for your trick—it was a jest all along, was it? I saw you give that ring to Kriss. I saw the entire thing unfold. Don't deny it. _

Her anger, I can tell, starts to die down at this point.

_Honestly, if you told me straight up that you didn't feel anything between us instead of lying and playing with my heart all this time, I would've taken the news a little better. Treat my heart that way, fine. Treat my country that way, you'll regret it. Dissolve the Castes. It is vital to the majority of the population._

_So, I guess this is it. Goodbye, Maxon._

_~America Singer_

"Guards!" I scream as I reach the end of the letter. "Bring me to the Angeles Airport. I need to find America." I hope I am not too late.

* * *

><p>…7 months later…<p>

She was gone. I was too late. I arrived at the airport mere minutes after her departure. Reluctantly, at my father's insistence, I married Kriss Ambers. She will be Queen of Illéa one day. But I still wish that it was America. Kriss knows that I miss her. She feels useless, and like a 'back-up plan', because, really, she knows that my heart still belongs to America. She tries to lift my spirit—and hers, too. I try my best to love her, but I just can't help but long for America's fire. I can't fully love my wife with my heart. I try, but … it's too hard. America has taken up such a large portion of my heart. But she's gone for good, anyhow.

She's engaged to Officer Leger, her friend from Carolina.

I couldn't help but be furious at him when they announced it, proudly, one evening at dinner, but I had to remind myself that I was in no position to rage.

As I walk up to our suite, I notice Kriss sitting on the bed, wistfully gazing at the pictures of the Selected. I hate to see my dear so sad, and I understand that Kriss misses her friends from the Selection. I try to comfort her, and to her delight, I suggest that the Selected and her friends from Colombia can have a week-long stay at the Palace, kind of like a reunion. She brightens up at once, and her joy fills the room. She flings her arms around my neck, gratefully exclaiming, "Thank you, Maxon!"

"Anything for you, my dearest," I say. Even though I still love America, I love Kriss. She is my wife, after all … it's just that not all of it belongs to Kriss. It is torn between two women, both whom I love equally.

She looks at me, her brown eyes searching mine. "Maxon," she starts, gently, "I know you still miss America." She sighs. "I wish I can help you somehow. I feel so … helpless when I can't comfort you."

I enfold her in my arms. "I'm trying, I promise," I say, soothing her and stroking her hair. "One day, I _know_ that I will be able to love you entirely." I sigh. "Just … not now."

Kriss nods, slowly. Not long afterwards, I feel her drift off to sleep in my arms, her head rested again my front. I carefully place her onto our bed, and walk out of the room. I head to my father's office, and firmly knock three times. "Come in!" I hear him call, pleasantly, and I shudder, disgusted. How is _it that is monster, this coward of a man,_ can sound so pleasant, yet be so evil; evil to the point of whipping his own son, drawing the blood of his own son, the son that _he_ bore?

I push the doors open, and walk in. My father looks at me, eyebrows raised. "So, Maxon, what is it?" he asks me.

* * *

><p><strong>Wow, the story itself is 3007 words! (Not counting the AN's!) That's a record. :)**

**Reviews: **

**The Queen Reader: LOL THAT FIRST SENTENCE OMG XD Thank my friend for the fluff … although we both got in trouble for writing that … yea … I seriously hope it was worth it :) And true … that'd be ****_extremely_**** awkward … yea … AUGH I LOVE THE BONUS EPILOGUE THINGY! Thanks!**

**LeftByTheGalaxy (guest): New reviewer! Yay! Haha, so good, I'm ****_not_**** the only one who looks at other people's reviews. Awe, thanks, I love yours too :) I actually got the idea for my name from one of my favourite songs, called ****_Astronaut_**** by Simple Plan. Go listen to it, if you want. I think you'll like it. And awe, thanks for the compliment :) AUGH I LOVE PJO/HOO! A lot of my guy friends hate it so I was like, "Whatever, screw you, I'm reading this!" I have to admit, I actually never heard of Panic! At the Disco. And YAAAS Solangelo, Caleo, Tratie, and Percabeth! TFIOS … don't get me started. It's the only book/move in the universe that made me bawl … And you should totally get a account. Just a suggestion *hint hint*. !**

**TheSelectionr0x: New reviewer! Yey! Yea, America's awesome, right?! Thanks!**

**RQOTD: Do you put marshmallows into your hot chocolate? **

**Answer to RQOTD (chapter 13): Uh … that was around two and a half months ago … I don't remember! I'm fairly sure I did, though :) **

**Answer to RQOTD (chapter 12): I realized that I never answer chapter 12's question. And weirdest nickname? Potato. Just … don't even ask. Even I don't know that whole story :/**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-K**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hi guys! **

**I JUST CHECKED WHEN I LAST UPDATED … MARCH 18?! … oops? SORRY GUYS!**

**Apologies that this isn't Part III of the whole Maxon-America-Kriss complication! Still working on that right now! Even though I have exams (bleh) I went ahead and wrote this. Yep, rebel here. Just kidding XD**

**NOTE: In this one-shot, May is FIVE years younger than America, therefore making her eighteen while America is twenty-three.**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

><p>•Timing is Everything•<p>

I pace around my room anxiously, one hand clutching the phone to my ear, and the other curled up into a fist, the knuckles turning white. _Please pick up, please, please, please. Oh, for goodness' sake, Mer, pick up the damn phone!_ I plead internally. Finally, finally, America's voice comes through. "Hello, this is America Singer一"

"Mer?" I ask, interrupting her.

"一can't come to the phone right now."

_Oh_. It's a voice message. I take a deep breath, and run my hand through my messy hair, trying to calm down.

"Please leave a mess一" The slightly robotic voice of my friend drones on.

I bite my lip as I hang up and tuck the Android into my jeans pocket.

Shutting my eyes, I heavily plop down on my bed. I run a hand through my dark hair again as I envision her with him.

I know that my worst fear has come to pass. I _know_ what I saw.

* * *

><p><em>She smiled as she passed me in the hallway leading to the Lecture Hall. "Hello, Aspen!" She beamed at me. "Ready for the Biology final?"<em>

_I shook my head, fingering the thick pile of notes I'd compiled over the last few days. "I'm screwed, Mer," I said, feeling my face heat up a little. "I feel like I've forgotten everything I studied."_

_She laughed a little. "Don't be ridiculous, Aspen!" she exclaimed, whacking me on the shoulder. "Everyone knows that you're one of the smartest people in this class!"_

_I shrugged. "I guess," I murmured. _

_"Besides, it's our last exam of the year!" She chirped. "After this, we're free! We just have to wait until graduation to receive our diplomas and degrees and then, we won't have to step foot inside this university ever again!" _

_"True."_

_Suddenly, a blur of blonde and black and white rushed at America and picked her up. She squealed in delight, and smacked the person's back. "Let go of me, Max!" she protested. _

_He laughed. "Nope!" Maxon Schreave spun Mer around and planted a little kiss on her cheek._

_"Max!" she complained, burying her face in her hands in humiliation. "We're in _public_. There are _teachers _walking by. _Students_, too."_

_"So?" He said back. "They don't have to look." He kissed her cheek once more. "Besides, it's just your cheek." He pointed out. Then his lips landed on hers. "Well, not anymore," he smiled broadly, his brown eyes twinkling with mischief._

_My blood turned cold. _

No.

* * *

><p>I sigh as I open my eyes and groan. After seeing that … incident between my friend and her … boyfriend?, I couldn't concentrate on my Biology exam once I began writing the test. I suddenly couldn't remember the difference between Meiosis I and II, or how RNA made proteins … until the last hour of the exam. <em>Then<em> it all came back to me.

I'm fairly sure that's one of the worst exams or tests I've ever done.

I flop down on my mattress once more, plugging my headphones into my phone and letting my music flow through. I shut my eyes, trying to distract myself from the memory.

I feel myself begin to relax, and feel that hazy, drifting feeling you get when you're about to fall asleep, when一

_Buzz! Buzz!_

A buzzing noise suddenly snaps me out of my hazy reverie. I yank my headphones off my head and make a grab for the phone that's sitting next to me.

I look at the lit screen to see who's calling me (and quite rudely interrupted my wonderful and much-needed would-be nap).

It's America. A slightly dopey grin makes its way to my face as I see the background picture of us two making crazy faces at the camera, taken around one and a half years ago at a Halloween party at a friend's house.

I jerk wide awake once I realize that the phone is still buzzing and that I haven't picked up yet.

I pull the cord of my headphones off my phone and hit 'answer'. "Hey, Mer," I greet her.

"Hi!" she returns. "You called earlier?"

"Um, yeah, I did," I manage to say.

"Sorry I couldn't pick up," she tells me apologetically. "I was on a date with Maxon, and my phone was on silent. Was it urgent?" she inquires.

"What? Oh, no, not at all." I reassure her. "I was just wondering about Maxon, that boyfriend of yours." My voice catches slightly on the word 'boyfriend'.

A pause. Then,"Aspen, he isn't my boyfriend …"

My heart rate quickens. "What?" I say, perhaps a little breathless. I struggle to keep my breathing under control. "But I thought, I thought … He _kissed_ you, Mer! On the lips, might I add! In front of a bunch of university people, too!" I ramble. "How is he _not_ your boyfriend?!"

She chuckles a little. "Calm down, man. Deep breaths."

I do as she said, and finally, I ask, almost hesitantly."Wait … Mer, did he _break up_ with you? Is that why he isn't your boyfriend?" Without waiting for an answer, I carry on. "Oh, he's _so_ going to regret it!" I mutter darkly, throwing in some curse words that are, ah, not exactly suitable for young children's ears. How dare he hurt my friend!

On the other side of the conversation, my red-headed friend is quiet, and for a second, I fear that that is what happened. Suddenly, she erupts into laughter. I cringe and hold the cell phone away from my ear. _Ow_. Man, her laugh is _loud!_ "What?!" she explodes. "This," she starts before bursting into laughter again. "This is hilarious!" she finally chokes out. I can envision her face turning as red as her hair.

"Ames, you haveta _calm yourself _and please, quiet down!" I hear a girl's voice pipe in the background. Probably May. "Just because you're done with your exams doesn't mean that I'm done with mine!" she protests. "I still have projects, provincials, and homework and _they suck_."

"Alright," Mer says after her laughter has died down. "No, he didn't break up with me," she assures me. "In fact, he did the opposite!"

Dumbfounded, I ask, "What's that supposed to mean?"

I can practically _hear_ Mer roll her eyes over the phone. "You little idiot," she teases me. "For such a smart guy like you, you can be pretty ignorant and oblivious at times. Not to mention clueless." I can hear the smile in her voice. "It means … well, it means …" She takes a deep breath. "HE PROPOSED TO ME!" She lets out a little squeal before telling me in one big rush, all in one breath. "Today-when-we-were-on-our-date-he-asked-me-and-I-said-yes-of-course-ahhh-I-was-so-surprised-but-oh-you-should-see-the-ring-it's-beautiful!"

I manage to congratulate her, trying to keep my voice light, when in reality, I long to scream at her in anger for agreeing to be his wife, or dig myself a nice big hole and crawl into it, and stay there. Forever. Finally, we hang up and I replay the last bits of our conversation in my head. _He asked me and I said yes_.

My heart plummets.

* * *

><p>Around two months later, I find myself sitting between Tiny Lee and Natalie Luca. We are all in our graduation robes, ready to receive our diplomas and walk out of this university with a bright future ahead of us. Finally, I hear my name being called.<p>

"Aspen Leger," I hear Principal Gregory Illéa say into the microphone. A smattering of applause comes as I walk upon that stage, shake the much-hated principal's hand, receive the diploma that I've worked so hard to earn, pose for a few pictures, and walk out of that stage. As I head back to my seat, I trip on my graduation robe, and almost faceplant on the stage, but I catch myself. I mentally smack myself on the forehead. _Way to go, Leger_. As I straighten up to carry on, I catch a glimpse of a girl around my age that I've never seen before. Probably one of the professor's daughters, I'll reckon.

As I sit back down on the plush seat, and watch Natalie walk up to that stage, I find my thoughts drifting towards that girl.

Something about her strikes me. Maybe it's the serene and gentle way she holds herself, or maybe it's how her crystal blue eyes can rival America's. Whatever it is, it draws me to her. _I should go talk to her afterwards_, I decide. I already had missed one chance with a beautiful girl I liked. I was too late, and Maxon captured her heart first. I am _not_ going to miss my next chance. _Whatever you do, don't chicken out, Leger_.

* * *

><p>When the ceremony is done and our top hats have been thrown into the air, I hurry over to where she is sitting. "Uh, pardon me," I say awkwardly, hoping that I don't sound like a creepy stalker. "I, uh, saw you sitting here, and I thought, that you looked kind of lonely."<p>

"Oh!" she exclaims, surprised, as if she didn't expect anyone to come talk to her. "Why, that's so nice of you! What's your name?"

"Aspen," I reply, a smile growing across my face. "Yours?"

"Lucy," she answers. Then, tilting her head as if studying me, she adds, "You're the guy who almost faceplanted on the stage after receiving the diploma, correct?"

"That's a lovely name." I compliment. "It suits you." She blushes a little and ducks her head. "And to answer your question, I didn't _almost_ faceplant. I just … the floor just wanted a hug but then it rejected me halfway, okaaayyyyy?" I protest, dragging out the last syllable of 'okay'.

She throws her head back and laughs, a lovely and melodic sound to my ears.

We spend the rest of the evening talking about random things, and as it turns out, I guessed correctly. She is the daughter of one of the professors一the Psychology professor, actually. She tells me that she's going to attend this University next year as she took a one-year break between graduating high school and going to post-secondary.

As the evening comes to a close and people are starting to walk out, I blurt out, "Lucy … perhaps, if you don't mind, would you like to go out for coffee this Monday, to just hang out and talk? Maybe at the Angeles Coffee Shop?"

To my absolute delight, she nods her head in agreement. "I'd love to."

* * *

><p><em>2 years later ...<em>

* * *

><p>"Lucy, you look beautiful!" America gushes over my fiancée. Lucy, clad in a white, long, and pristine wedding dress, thanks her, smiling.<p>

As if noticing for the first time that I am still present in the room, my redheaded friend mockingly glares at me. "You. Out!" she commands, pushing me out the door. "No boys allowed."

Lucy giggles. "Yea, you have cooties," she jokes. I smile a little, knowing what she means. Many of us Angeleno children grew up playing in forts and treehouses with wooden signs proclaiming that the other sex had cooties and therefore were banned from entering the "hideout". The three of us were no exception. America successfully kicks me out of the shop, and Lucy blows me a kiss, shouting "See you soon!" to me before the door closes.

I shake my head a little. These two women are two of the most important girls in my life. One of them my fiancée, the other my close friend and confidante. I may have loved her before, but my feelings for her are gone. Perhaps what I mistook for love might just be a close, brotherly-sisterly love.

Or not.

But whatever it is, things worked out beautifully. I'm glad I have Lucy. She's beautiful and breathtaking and all the qualities America has are amplified on her …

If I had asked America out before her husband Maxon could, I wouldn't have found the love of my life. I'm thankful everything worked out in the end, even though at times, it seemed like everything was falling apart, when, in the long run, it was just falling into place.

Perhaps, timing really is everything.

* * *

><p><strong>Woo-hoo! Maxerica and Luspen! :) (That's their ship name, right?) <strong>

**Yes, there isn't a lot of romance here. I CAN'T WRITE ROMANCE OKAAAYYYYY?!**

**But I hope that you're satisfied!**

**And yup, this is basically mirrors the Selection story, just in modern time :) Except that Aspen and America never dated, haha :P**

**Reviews:**

**HorseGalFangirl9: Thank you for the compliment! Aw, I'm so glad that you really enjoy reading "Caught"! That makes me really happy :) Unfortunately, I do not think that I will be writing Part II of that. Sorry if that disappointed you :( Thanks!**

**Guest (chapter 11): I'm still literally trying to figure out how to reply to your review … uh, thanks for still taking the time to review, I guess? But on the bright (ish) side, this is my first hate review! XD Strangely enough, I've been waiting AGES for a hate review … is that bad? (When I got this review, I started laughing … yep, definitely weird.) Anyhow, thanks!**

**Thank you (guest): New reviewer! Cool name, by the way :) Yes, do not worry, I am still writing it! It's just not … uh, finalised yet. Heck, I'm still stuck on the ending, haha. Thanks! **

**RQOTD: Thanks! If you were a superhero what powers would you have?**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-K**


	16. Chapter 16

**Yay! The long-awaited Part III! Sorry I've been M.I.A. so long!**

**My gut feeling isn't exactly happy with it, but I think it sounds fine (I read it over dozens of time) so I decided to go ahead and post it :)**

**Enjoy, and happy reading!**

* * *

><p>•Two Pieces•<p>

- Maxon -

"Father," I start carefully. "Kriss has been extremely desolate lately, and she tells me she misses her friends from the Selection. Do you think that we can invite the Elite to come over for a week's stay?"

My father looks at me. "Are you sure that you are not making this up?" he asks. _What kind of stupid question is that?_ I question in my mind. Nevertheless, I nod.

"It is the truth, sir," I say. "You may ask Kriss if you would like."

"Very well," he relents, turning back to his work. But he suddenly turns toward me again, his cold eyes focusing on my face. "And I suppose that the Five will also be invited?" he asks, his voice bitter and frosty at the mention of America.

I nod. "Yes, Father. America's one of Kriss' closest friends here at the Selection." I'm fairly sure that it's true. I would always see them together, talking, during the Selection. And, well, even if it isn't true, a white lie never hurt anybody … right?

I can see my father pondering over my words, and comes to the same conclusion as I, that they were always together, talking, laughing, just being … themselves. "Alright," he finally agrees, "the Five can come, too, I guess. Her fiancé will probably be patrolling the area, so you can't do anything to her." He laughs dryly. Even though I know, at the mention of America's fiancé, Aspen, drives a knife into my stomach. Officer Aspen Leger. America's fiancé. One day, her husband. When it should've been me. Me, who should've proposed to her, be her husband one day, have her as Queen one day. But no. That is fantasy. Kriss is my wife—that is reality.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," I say to my father, and exit out of his office, never turning my back to him, as it is the custom—the law—here, in Illéa.

The thought seeps into my head before I can stop it: _I hope you still love me, America, because still love you._

"Done," the messenger informs me. "The invitations have been sent out to the Elite."

I wordlessly nod my head in thanks. 168 hours—7 days—before the Elite arrive.

* * *

><p>144 hours. 6 days. My mother, the maids, and I have been working hard to prepare for their stay. My mother and I planning what they would do during their stay, the maids washing and cleaning their designated rooms, and putting some personalized touches on each girls' rooms: such as a large selection of make-up and a camera for Celeste, and a piano and violin for America.<p>

* * *

><p>120 hours. 5 days. The maids are making a selection of dresses for the Elite to wear.<p>

* * *

><p>96 hours. 4 days. Gavril announced the future arrival of the Elite on <em>The Report.<em> I hope the America will come; it wasn't mandatory, but it was "highly recommended"—Gavril's words.

* * *

><p>72 hours. 3 days. The cooks, my mother, and I are planning out the menu for each day of the Elite's stay.<p>

* * *

><p>48 hours. 2 days. There is nothing left to do, but wait. If I were a child, I'd be jumping all over the place.<p>

* * *

><p>24 hours. I will see America soon. And mentally, I add, for Kriss' benefit, I hope that this will lift Kriss' spirits.<p>

* * *

><p>12 hours. I am internally biting my nails in anticipation. Nothing runs through my mind except for one name: America.<p>

* * *

><p>6 hours. We go over last minute preparations. The last time we hosted such an event, it was the Selection, and my parents handled all the paperwork. I didn't prepare anything with them. My only job was to find a wife. Who knew preparing for a week-long stay for four girls was so stressful? How did my parents prepare for this, with <em>35 girls<em>, no less?

* * *

><p>3 hours. 2 hours. 1 hour. They're here. They are ushered into the Women's Room to prepare while I take Kriss out for a little surprise, in order to distract her. I take her to the nearby park, for a little stroll and a nice picnic, just reserved for the two of us. When the sun starts to set over the horizon, I know that it is my cue to leave. We walk, hand in hand, back to the palace.<p>

* * *

><p>I see Elise first. Her eyes are as bright as ever, and as she looks around, I see that she, once again, is awestruck by the beauty of the palace. Kriss squeals in delight as she sees her friends walk through the door. She hugs Elise, then turns toward me. "<em>You <em>planned this?! Your father agreed?!" she exclaims, her eyes wide. I try to keep a straight face, but my mouth betrays me as it breaks into a wide smile, a Cheshire cat-like grin. "Maxon!" she exclaims, throwing her arms around me. "Thank you so much!" I hug her back.

Celeste comes in next, her satin purple dress draped around her in a fashion that is not revealing, but stunning all the same. "Kriss!" Celeste cries as soon as she catches sight of my wife.

"Celeste!" I hear Kriss squeal in return, and the two girls embrace each other. Huh. Didn't see that coming. Who knew they were friends?

I see Natalie come in next, her blonde hair glinting in the sunlight. Kriss greets Natalie not as enthusiastically the way she greeted the others, but still, all the same, happy.

Then I see America. With her fiery red hair twirled into a bun, and her ice-blue eyes observing the grandeur in the palace, I see that she has lost none of her spark, and that she looked just as beautiful as the day I last saw her. Kriss' smile grows bigger at the sight of her dear friend. "America!" she shouts, but this, it is filled with joy, not anger. The two girls hug each other tightly, and I see America's eyes flicker around the room, and meets my eyes. I try to maintain contact with her, but she shoots me an icy glare, and looks away. Her hard gaze softens once she turns back to Kriss, a smile gracing her face once more.

Her glare. It drives a knife into my heart. She doesn't love me anymore. In fact, she hates me. Why? Why? WHY?

I loved her. I still do. But … she really loves Aspen now. Suddenly, red-hot fire burns within me, spreading through my veins, coursing everywhere within me. The fire burns with hatred and jealousy against her fiancé. It should've been me who proposed to her, and became the fiancé of America Singer. Me, Maxon Calix Schreave, Crown Prince of Illéa. Not Officer Aspen Leger. Me.

But I can't change any of that.

As the sounds of dinner being finished and the sounds of forks and spoons scraping the plates die down, I try to make eye contact with her once more. Her gaze meets my eye, but I receive, once again, the cold harsh stare that she gave me earlier on. I give up, and turn to Kriss, and plant a small kiss on her cheek. Large public displays of affection are frowned upon, but as a general rule, little ones such as a peck on the cheek or hand are deemed alright. I see her lips curve up a little, though her face is placid.

America makes no reaction to that small gesture. Oh, dear … now I've really lost her. Forever.

As I wander around outside deep into the night, I can't help but remember how this exact place ruined what should've been my happy future. With America. Footsteps echo behind me. I stop in my tracks, expecting it to be Kriss. I paste a small smile on my face, and then turn around to face my dear wife.

But it isn't her. Not Kriss.

"America." I say.

* * *

><p>- America -<p>

"America," Maxon says softly, halting in his steps and walking back towards me.

I raise my eyebrows at the approaching figure. "Maxon," I return, coldly.

"America," he repeats again, coming to a stop before me, "how was your day?"

_Is it not clear enough? Can't I just be, for once, left alone at this palace with no Crown Prince to hover over me, asking me how my day was, watching my every move, trying to have me fall in love with him, all over again? _I wonder. _Can't he see that I don't want his company? That we can just walk off to our separate ways? _Just as I open my mouth to answer his question, a pair of arms wrap around my waist. Arms that I know well. Strong arms, taut with the vigorous training that he endures, as a guard at the palace.

Aspen. My love. "Hi," I greet him without turning around, "are you still on your shift?"

"Oh, it's over," he replies. He gives me a small kiss on the cheek, and I smile. "And I have good news, too!"

My curiosity rises up. "What is it?" I ask eagerly.

His face splits into a broad smile. "His Majesty let me have the week off, since you're here and he understands that I never see you unless you come over—which is very rarely—he let me have the week off! Isn't he a wonderful king?!"

Remembering how he treated Maxon—sorry, _Prince _Maxon—during the Selection and even before that, I beg to differ. King Clarkson is _not_ a wonderful king. He's a terrible one, really. "Um, yea, he is," I agree half-heartedly, nodding.

"Oh, Mer, I can read your expression. You disagree, don't you?" questions Aspen.

As I open my mouth to respond, he hurries on, "Mer, don't be mad about His Majesty for the Castes." _That's only part of the reason why I hate him_, I correct him internally. "It's not his fault; he can't change the way Gregory Illéa decided how our country would work," he continues. "And—" he stops, looking over my shoulder.

I turn around, and there, still standing where I left him, is Maxon. "Oh! Your Highness, forgive me, I did not know that you were there. Forgive me, sir, I did—"

Maxon abruptly cuts off Aspen's rambling. "It's alright, Officer Leger."

"Your Highness, were you talking to America before my interruption?" Aspen asks him cautiously.

Maxon nods. "Yes, we were," he confirms, his face and voice neutral.

Aspen looks horrified. "Your Highness, I apologize," he tells Maxon. "You may continue on your conversation with America." I open my mouth to protest, but my love doesn't notice. "I apologize again, your Highness. I hope you do not hold this against me. " With that, he disappears.

I curse under my breath. "Your Highness, I must be off." I tell him, and begin to walk away.

"Wait, America." Maxon says, reaching out and grabbing onto my arm.

"Yes? What is it?" I ask him coldly, turning around. "And please let go of my hand."

He reluctantly does, and asks me, sadly, "Oh, America, where did we go wrong?"

I lift an eyebrow. "We never went wrong," I say. "We just were not meant for each other."

"Are you sure?" he questions. "Have you ever thought about what _should've_ happened, instead of what _actually_ happened?"

"I know not of what you are talking about, Prince Maxon." I reply, picking at my nails.

"Does our love mean nothing to you, America?" Maxon insists, stepping closer.

I wave my hand dismissively, as if to chase away history. "That was in the past, your Highness." I turn away, hoping that the pain won't come back to me. "Your love means nothing to me now; and besides we both are wed—or soon to be wed—to other people. It won't matter now anyways."

"America …" I can hear the plea in his voice. I clench my jaw, contemplating whether or not I should face him away. After a few moments, I finally snap.

"You want answers, do you?" I hiss, turning around. "Fine, I'll give it to you.

"Yes, I _did_ love you. _Did_. I loved you until I saw how much you lied to me, and even then, I tried to dismiss that. I tried to make excuses for your actions. I tried to be oblivious to the truth that was right in front of me. I tried to forget them, ignore them, because _I loved you so much_." I take a deep breath, folding my hands. "But everything comes to an end, even ignorance and love, and my eyes opened. I realized how much you lied to me and hurt me, so one day, I simply decided that you weren't worth it, and gathered all the love I had for you in me, and locked them away in a little box in the deepest of chambers. It was for the best, I knew. I _had_ to get over you. It would only harm me if I didn't."

He stares at me, distraught. Ignoring him, I continue on.

"Then a few months after I left, Aspen came. He healed me and put me back together. When he spent all his time with me those couple of days, everything I had with him returned. It erased all the painful memories. I may sound like I was looking for a distraction; I wasn't. He made me feel light again, free. Something I never felt when I was in the Selection. He made me feel better, he made me laugh more, made me happier. I may sound a little selfish and cruel when I say this, but he … he was a better boyfriend than you'll ever be. Or, well, a better fiancé, now." I correct myself.

He stares his wide brown eyes at me again. "America," he says. "Just … just let me explain." He sighs. "You see, it was my father's doing. He urged me to go on a date with Kriss. I had to, or else he said that there would be consequences—for both you _and_ me. I couldn't let him lay one finger on you, America! So I did it. I went on a date with her, wishing it was you instead of her for the duration of the date."

I look away, ashamed at my actions. He did it just to protect me. Guilt fills my body. He went on a date with a girl he didn't really love to save me, and in return, I broke his heart. I look over at the horizon. The moon has risen high into the night sky. "I should go soon," I announce, the crisp tone gone. I turn away from him, and say, over my shoulder, "I'm sorry, Maxon. I didn't know. I feel really guilty know. It's too late, though. We've gone down our separate paths.

"So," I turn around again. "Friends?" I offer out my hand.

He hesitates, and nods. "Friends."

I pause, and wrap my arms around him in a loose hug. "Good-bye, Maxon," I say. "I'm leaving tomorrow with Aspen, and who knows when we'll see each other face-to-face again?"

He pulls back, looking me in the eye. "Soon," he says. "I hope it'll be soon."

* * *

><p><strong>There <strong>**_will_**** be a Part IV; it's coming soon :) Stay tuned!**

**Here's a little preview:**

'Soon' happened _far_ too soon.

I never really wanted it to happen, in fact.

Not like this.

**Reviews:**

**Guest (chapter 10): XD That's hilarious! Thanks!**

**selectionlover123: New reviewer! Aw, I'm so sorry … :( Thanks!**

**RQOTD: Who freaked out over report cards?**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-K**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hello! Sorry I have been gone for quite a long time; I have been working my butt off preparing for a new story … unfortunately, it's not a Selection fanfiction, it's a Percy Jackson fanfic! :)**

**Apologies that this one is so short; I wanted to try something new, so I tried to write it in the style similar to how Athenachild101 writes her one-shots.**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

><p>•Tears•<p>

Tears.

Tears came when she came into this world, kicking and screaming at the top of her lungs.

Tears arrived when her sister announced that she was going to marry a Four; out of happiness and selfishness. Happiness because Kenna deserved to live a better life, selfishness because that meant that she wouldn't see her sister as much.

Tears fell when Aspen broke up with her; the shock of the news and the abrupt ending of their relationship.

Tears pooled in her eyes when she saw her best friend, Marlee, get caned for loving the wrong person.

Tears turned her from a strong young woman to a broken child in a few short minutes upon learning her father was dead from his hereditary heart disease.

Tears brimmed in her eyes when she said "I do"; one, out of pure joy, because she was going to marry the man she loved, the other out of sorrow because her father couldn't live to see it.

Tears were blinked back when she saw—and _held_—her two babies, the twins Eadlyn and Ahren, for the first time in that hospital room after a long and hard labour.

Tears were made when she found out that she was vulnerable to the same heart disease that took her father.

Tears were wiped away when she realized that few too many people of Illéa were dissatisfied with the abolishment of the Caste system.

Tears streamed her weary face when she realized that Ahren had gone away to elope with Camille.

Tears soaked the hospital pillow when she pulled free from her coma after the shocking news of her son's elopement; Maxon and Eadlyn made her promise to _never_ scare them again like that, and she agreed.

Tears were sitting on her face, untouched, in public, when, forty years later, she watched her beloved husband lowered into his grave.

The public saw her as a strong figure, one who never let tears control her, or they figured that she was strong enough to withstand tears.

They were wrong.

So many events in her life were accompanied by tears ... Whether they were happy or devastated tears, it didn't matter.

For when they saw the disciplined, strict, strong, and Queenly side of her ... they may have forgotten that she was human as well as a wife and mother, and she, too, was vulnerable to tears.

* * *

><p><strong>Yup. It's sad. I'm working on finishing Part IV of the AmericaMaxon problem! I hope that it will be coming out sometime in the next week and a half or so; but that cannot be guaranteed. I have a HUGE exam in the beginning of the next month, so … yea**

**Reviews!**

**theartnerd333 **(all reviews)**: New reviewer! :) Awe, thank you! (Even though I PM'ed you that I will say it again XD) Did I make you cry? Oops :P And well, she didn't get chosen because it's AU, so … yea. That probably means no Maxon, either XD Nope. Didn't make America die again. I don't plan to, either :) Thanks!**

**Aleena17: New reviewer! I did! Thanks!**

**kmorg0330: Are you a new reviewer? I don't remember, sorry :P I think so, though XD Alright, here's the update :) … not the four-shot, but still an update ... haha. Awe, thank you for the compliments! Thanks!**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-K**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hi! **

**I'm back! Sorry that I kinda went M.I.A. for almost two months. I had a torturous exam in the summer that took up 70% of my day and after that was over, I went on vacation. Also, school's killing me. BEING IN HONOURS CLASSES ARE SO STRESSFUL :(**

**FINALLY … WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR! The last part of the whole Aspen-America-Maxon mess! Yay!**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

><p>•Together•<p>

'Soon' happened _far_ too soon.

I never really wanted it to happen, in fact.

Not like this.

* * *

><p>Around four and a half years after our last encounter at the palace, and my marriage to Aspen, I am painting one of the rooms in our house when the doorbell rings. Upon answering it, the worst piece of news that one can ever receive comes to me, informed by three stone-faced palace guards: Aspen is dead—killed in action.<p>

I sink to my knees in agony, the hand without the paintbrush resting on my slightly swollen stomach. Why did he have to leave me—_us_—so soon? What did he do deserve this? All he did was protect the lives of the royal family and guests. Because of that, now he's gone, and our child will grow up without his or her father—I don't think I can stand the idea of remarrying someone else.

"Mrs. Leger?" the guard on the right says, breaking me out of my thoughts.

I lift my head. "Yes?" I reply, my voice shaking. I hope against hope that at that moment, Aspen will pop out of the bushes or jump out of the tree and yell "JUST KIDDING! I'm home, America!", but … when I see the looks of his fellow comrades' faces, I know … he's gone.

"General Leger was killed protecting Her Majesty Queen Kriss Schreave," the guard on the left explains quietly. "However, his attempts were futile as she was killed right after he fell."

That was Aspen; always a strong man who protected people, right until the very end. I remember him saying to me, right before he left, "It'll take more than a bullet to take me down. I'll be okay, I promise. We'll see each other soon, my beautiful America Leger." I'll see him … but he won't see me.

"His remains and all his belongings, including his uniform, will be sent home to you, as well as his flag," the other one informs me. "There will be a ceremony honouring him and seven other guards next week."

His remains. His belongings. Our memories. Photographs. That is all I have left of Aspen. Yet that alone cannot explain how wonderful of a man he was. Why did life have to take the best people, the ones who deserved a long, wonderful life, so soon? First my father, then Elec Leger, Micah, and now, my husband.

I realize that the soldier on the right is still talking. I attempt to tune in to what he was saying, and catch the last part: "—Schreave requests your presence immediately. You are to leave with us in an hour."

* * *

><p>A young-looking maid escorts me into my new room, never meeting my eye. "Here is your new room," she says, stating the obvious. "King Maxon will be here shortly." With that, she exits.<p>

I wordlessly zip open my suitcase that I had hurriedly packed after receiving the news. There is nothing fancy, just mostly black clothing.

I unwrap a thick woolen sweater around a picture frame of Aspen and I on our wedding day. Just the sight of him causes tears to well up in my eyes. I miss him ... I missed him before he was killed, but I thought that he'd come back. Now the longing to see him again—alive—is one that will never happen. The missing of him is so strong, it's almost _physical_.

Tears pool in my eyes once more. Never again will I see his bright green eyes sparkling, his deep laugh, the smile that always lighted up his face.

"America?" A voice says softly behind me.

Without saying anything, I turn around and hug him, careful to not squish the baby between us. I _have_ to make sure that this baby stays safe. He or she is the only thing I have left of Aspen. "I'm truly sorry, America," he says. I don't bother to correct him. I just don't care about anything, except for the baby. Aspen, my husband, is _dead_. The realization that he's truly gone hits me right then and there. I burst into tears, unintentionally soaking the back of Maxon's t-shirt. Frankly, he doesn't seem to care. I suspect that he is crying as well. "Sh, sh, don't cry," he pleads gently. "Aspen's in a better place now."

I pull away from him. "So's Kriss," I whisper. "Neither of them deserved to go so soon."

"They didn't," he agrees quietly. "None of them did."

* * *

><p>I sit in another guard's home, consoling his mother. "Why?" she wails. "He was a good boy. Always doing the right thing, always trying to help others. He was a bit too stubborn for his own good, and look where it got him!"<p>

"I know," I whisper, stroking the old woman's back. "I know what you mean."

"He―" she starts, and then breaks down in another round of tears.

"Mrs. Yeung," I say. "Don't think about his death, think about what he did in life. Think about the things he did that made you smile, the things he did that made you happy. Don't dwell on his death; that's not going to help. Thinking about his life will be much easier, and the memories you two made will not be so hard on you. He's in a better place now. Believe it."

I hold her a little longer, occasionally murmuring comforting words to her and patting her back.

Finally, she dries off her tears, and turns around to look at me. "You are such a wonderful girl," she says. "You'd make an excellent queen. Although Queen Kriss is gone, and no one can replace her, your gentle soul is one that could do Illéa a great deal of good."

I shake my head a little, telling her that I'm not sure if Maxon and I can get over our spouses' deaths so soon. I add, after a while, "Maxon might want to marry someone else. Elise, perhaps. Or maybe he'll just never marry, since he won't be able to get over Kriss' death. He might not marry me."

She takes my hand, replying, "Time will heal. Love, too. And when both have healed you two, perhaps it will happen."

* * *

><p>A few days later, I find myself sitting quietly beside Queen Amberly the Queen Mother of Illéa, with Maxon on her other side. The twins, Eadlyn and Ahren, sit beside their grandmother. From what Maxon told me earlier today, King Father Clarkson is in Sota right now, visiting his great-aunt. As the servants places out our lunch in front of us, Maxon's mother comments to us, "You know, Maxon and America, that was really wonderful and kind of you to go visit the fallen guards' homes. You made a wise decision," she says, praising Maxon and I.<p>

"Thank you, Queen Mother," I say.

The conversation falls silent as we dig into our lunch. Finally, Maxon's mother breaks the silence. "Honey, I've noticed that aside from visiting the guards' homes, you haven't been moving around much," she says to me. "It's not healthy for both you and the baby. Go walk around outside, visit the gardens, go into the city―whatever works for you."

"But where can I go without being noticed by the people?" I ask her, washing down my lunch with cranberry juice. "My red hair is pretty noticeable, as well as my face."

"You can wear a hood or a cap with sunglasses," Maxon suggests. "That's what I do when I want to go out incognito.

"And America," he continues, "I truly advise that you listen to Mum's piece of advice. She _knows_ what she's talking about."

"I don't―" I start, but Maxon interrupts me.

"You don't want to go alone? You don't have to; I need to go into the city anyways today. We'll go together!"

"Well―"

He shakes his head. "America, just _go_!" he groans, exasperated. "We'll be accompanied by guards. We'll be riding one of the palace cars to the city, and then we can walk around, and we'll stick together! It's going to be alright!"

I sigh, defeated. "Fine," I relent.

* * *

><p>I blow into my cupped hands, trying to warm them up. December in Angeles is extremely frigid. When I deem my fingers and hands to finally be unfrozen, I pick up the pen and continue to write.<p>

_… __The baby is doing well, although he or she misses you. I can tell. It doesn't move around as much as it used to. I still don't know the gender of it even though I have to option to find out, here in the palace. I just couldn't bear to do it without you. Truth be told, I'm scared, Aspen. How can I raise our little baby on my own? I―_

I am rudely and abruptly jerked out of my writing by a loud _smack!_ beside me. I jump up in surprise. "What the crap?!" I exclaim, glaring at the blond beside me.

"Sorry," Maxon apologizes. He then proceeds to shove something in front of my face. "Sorry for interrupting, but I think you should see this."

Giving him a strange look, I grab the 'something' from his hand, and upon reading the headline, my eyes widen. "When did this come out?" I ask, frantic.

"This morning," he answers, pointing at the date at the bottom of the colour-filled tabloid. The jarring headline screams: ARE KING MAXON AND LADY AMERICA BACK TOGETHER? I grimace. In the background is a picture of us, undoubtedly taken a week ago when Maxon and I went to walk around in the city, at Queen Mother's request. She had carried on to order me to exercise for at least an hour each day, up until the day I start my bedrest. "That's an official order, and you have to obey it," she had told me afterwards, humour sparkling in her eyes.

"I don't know how this happened," Maxon says now. "We were careful to conceal our identities. You wore a hood and sunglasses, and I wore false glasses and a wig!"

"But we took the glasses and hood off right before we arrived back at the palace," I point out. "They might've spotted us then."

He sighs. "Come," he tells me, offering his arm. "Let's set the rumours straight on tonight's _Report_."

* * *

><p><em>America<em>.

"Aspen?" I ask, hopeful. "You're alive?" I step through the blue fog and find myself standing on a canyon, with Aspen on the other side. A large gaping hole that runs between us for as far as I can see separates us.

_No_. He shakes his head sadly, his mouth unmoving, but his words echoing in my head. _No, I am not_. _In your heart, yes, but to the world? I am gone_. _I was killed in battle, Mer. You know that_.

"But … but how are you talking to me?" I ask him, dumbfounded.

He shrugs. _Actually, I'm not sure either_, he admits. _It doesn't matter though. Mer, you can't never move on from me._

_How can I? _I think. Out loud, I say, "I don't know if I can. I feel like if I marry someone else, I am betraying you."

_You are not. Think about our child. He or she won't ever grow up without a father if you never remarry. Besides, I know that a part of you still love Maxon._ I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand. _You might deny it, Mer, but I know. You hold both of us in your heart. Even if you married him, part of your heart would still yearn for me. _

My shoulders slump. "Aspen, I don't know …"

_Don't know what?_ _Don't know that you aren't betraying me if you marry Maxon, or can't come to the realization that you love both of us?_ Aspen asks me. _I know it _should _affect me, but it doesn't. He helped you when I broke up with you, and I helped you when he broke your heart. I think it's fair, Mer, because both of us have done so much in your life._

I squeeze my eyes shut. "Aspen, you really think so?"

He nods. _I won't feel betrayed, I promise. Besides, I'm dead!_ I open my eyes again, shooting him a look, reprimanding him for saying so. He shrugs in response. _It's true though. I _am_. Many women marry after their husbands die. Why won't you do the same? I, in fact, support the option of you marrying Maxon. I don't think it's even a request anymore; consider it a dead man's final wish._ He smiles a little wryly at that one_. He's a good man; he'll be a good father also. Just … just promise me that you'll never forget me._

"Do you have any say what you want to name the baby?"

He smiles, leans forward, and, without saying them inside my head, rests his pale, almost translucent hand, on my head and places his choice of the baby's name inside. "Aspen," I say to him, quietly, "I think 'Kaden' for a boy is a good choice." I promise him to name him Kaden, should he be a boy. Suddenly, I hear a sound in the distance, and turn my head to locate said sound.

Aspen bites his lip. _I'm sorry, Mer,_ he tells me. _It's morning, and … I'm afraid that we will never see each other again. Not in your dreams, at least. This was the only chance I could meet up with someone in their dreams, and I chose you, Mer. Tell my family that I love them and I'm sorry for leaving them so soon, and tell Maxon this._ He places his message inside my head. I close my eyes to try to remember each and every word. He is starting to fade, and his face grows paler. _I'm sorry, Mer_, he tells me again. _I have to leave you now. Take care of the baby. I love you, America Leger. _Only his beautiful emerald-green eyes remain now, and that, too, disappears in an instant.

Before I can respond with my own "I love you", I am whisked away from the shadowy world and return to Angeles.

* * *

><p>Maxon looks at me with concern in his expression. "Are you alright, America?" he asks me.<p>

I tiredly rub my hand over my face. I lie and tell him that I'm alright, saying that the baby kept me up a little all night. The widowed King makes a sympathetic face and asked, "The entire night?"

I nod, cocking my head in confusion.

"Strange," he comments. "When I went into your room to return the violin you'd left in the music room last night, I was sure you were knocked out cold."

I blush a little. Maxon caught my lie. "Okay, fine," I admit. "The baby didn't keep me up all night. In fact, the bun in the oven was really quiet last night, thank goodness."

"'Bun in the oven'?" he repeats, clearly confused. I explain what it is, and inform him that I picked up the term from reading one of the books in the huge library.

"Anyways, I slept soundly—I think," I continue. "I saw Aspen in the dream … and we talked."

"About what?"

I wave my hand away. "Things," I reply vaguely. "His message to our family and … stuff."

I must've had a weird tone in my voice, because Maxon looked over at me and raised an eyebrow. Before he says anything, I sigh and reluctantly tell him Aspen's last wish of him wanting me to re-marry.

"So?" He raises both eyebrows now. "That's not a bad thing."

I groan and look down at my lap, hoping my red hair will conceal my red face. "He also told me to marry you, if you wanted," I told him quickly and quietly.

"What?" Maxon asks me. "I didn't quite catch that."

I repeat it again, slower, feeling my face heat up more and more with each word. When I'm done, all there is is silence. Suddenly, he bursts out laughing. Indignantly, I demand an explanation as to why he burst out in laughter.

"I don't understand why you were so red!" More laughter.

"Well, who wouldn't be if their dead spouse asked them to marry someone else, someone who maybe didn't love them?" I retort. And then … it just slips out. "Someone whom they love dearly but whose feelings are not reciprocated?"

Just with that sentence, the entire hall falls silent. Maxon's laughter is silenced in mid-laugh, and he stares at me, his chocolate brown eyes wide with shock. "Mer," he utters, ever so quietly, "Tell me the truth. Did you love me? Before you married Aspen?"

There's no going back now.

"Yes, I did. I still do."

* * *

><p><strong>And, that's a wrap! Woo-hoo! Maxerica got back together! I hope I satisfied all you happy fangirls :)<strong>

**Not sure if this chapter was as good as the previous ones. I haven't written anything in quite a long time so my writing skills may be a little rusty :(**

**Reviews:**

**Alex (guest): New reviewer! And yup, Maxon's cool, though! LOL … "He's tall, brown-eyed, blond, with abs. Who doesn't want that?" XD That made me laugh pretty hard, for some reason. Thanks!**

**Roses323: New reviewer! Okay, sure! I'll do another modern one :) Aw, thank you! YES PRIM'S DEATH WAS HEART-WRENCHING. AND GUS'—don't even get me started. I've read Divergent, Hunger Games, and Fault in Our Stars. My friend is begging me to read the Legend Series, but it's out in the library right now. :( Thanks!**

**Jwong0204: New reviewer! Aw, thank you! Haha, I've been asked multiple times if I can continue "Caught". I've actually considered to write the sequel multiple times, but in the end, I came to the conclusion, every time, that it's better to just let it hang off in a cliffhanger. Hmm … maybe you can write what you think will happen to Clarkson and America! I'd love to read it :) Thanks!**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-K**


	19. Chapter 19

**Hey guys! **

**Happy Halloween! I decided to match the Halloween theme this year and write a Halloween-themed one-shot! **

**Oh, and the song title has ****_nothing _****to do with Leona Lewis' ****_Bleeding Love_****.**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

><p>•Bleeding Love•<p>

Shadows. They help her blend into the night. She is among them, quiet and unseen, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Her mother said, for her to prove her self-worth to her family's clan, she must bring back The Chosen.

With his heart out, in her palm, and his soul free.

Her heart has chosen.

She's coiled up, hidden, and ready to win. She will _not_ lose. She's sure of it.

* * *

><p>"Mom," I say, approaching her as she swallows the last of her meal, "I can sense that he's coming around tonight. It'll be my chance then."<p>

She nods approvingly, wiping her mouth with her napkin. "Good."

"I'll succeed," I tell her. "I'm ready. I _know_ I am." She smiles at me as she sets her napkin down and slides her chair back with a squeak. She stands up and carries her empty plates to the sink. Our maid will handle them.

"Good," she says again, walking over to me. "Then you'll be able to prove to your family and your clan that you are worthy of becoming the next leader." Stepping closer to me, she lifts up my chin with her index finger, her nail, painted a blood red, glinting in the dim light of the kitchen, and adds, "Remember who you are, and where you came from. You are a fighter. Don't give up so easily." My mother then turns her back on me, and disappears into the shadows. Not a second later passes do I hear the distinct flapping of a bat's wings.

I take a deep breath and head back to my bedroom to prepare for the upcoming ritual. I cross the room to get my makeup supplies after I don my black dress and gloves. Normally, if this was just an easy task of applying on everyday makeup, I'd ask Neena, my personal maid, to do it for me.

But not today. This is something I need to do alone.

* * *

><p>He's here. I see an outline of a hazy silhouette, his top hat and stiff poise. That, no doubt, is him. I flatten myself against the walls, carefully concealed by the shadows, and wait. He <em>will<em> come.

Soon enough, his silhouette steps closer and closer to my hiding place. When I deem him close enough to capture, I leap out of the shadows without warning, and, in mid-air, shift into a human, and land on him. Oh, and did I mention that I was a bat when I was hiding? Yeah, I was. I'm a vampire. My entire family are vampires; our ancestral line dates back to the making of the first vampires, in 1444 A.D., making us one of the oldest and prestigious vampire clan in history.

I land, butt-first, on his torso, and sit on his chest, my legs on either side of him. Before he can react, I whip out a piece of tape and attempt to tape his mouth with it. Key word: _attempt_. He struggles and puts up a good fight, using his legs to try to push me off, so I have no choice but to resort to use my _Encanto_. I _could_ use brute force to subdue him easily, but wounding him right now is not high on my list of priorities. It takes around a minute or two to go into effect, so I better act and quickly as possible.

"Shh!" I hiss, clamping a hand over his mouth, bringing my face into the moonlight. His eyes widen when he sees my face, and his face grows visibly pale. Making eye contact with him, and bringing out the "special" voice we vampires use for _Encanto_, I tell him, "I'm _not _going to hurt you. If you stop struggling, and stay quiet, I won't tape your mouth, okay?" Already I can see the effects of the _Encanto _quickly overtaking him. His legs go slack, as do his arms, and that spark of fight in his eyes grow dim. "And," I add, "this is just a dream. It's not real, okay? Just … just don't struggle."

Finally, all fight leaves his body, much to my relief. I hoist him, like a limp rag doll, into a fireman carry, his upper body hanging upside down, on my back, and his legs in front. I scurry into the alley I was hiding in moments before, and lay him down. Resting my hand on his chest to prevent him from escaping, I kneel down, pop my fangs out and cover his eyes. He doesn't need to see this.

Already I know that I'm being to gentle, too kind with him. Many others, like my twin brother, Ahren, were much more harsh and cruel with _their_ Chosen. But I can't stand to do the same to him. I can't.

I like to think of myself as not so cruel. But I'm still cold. I'm still powerful. I just don't display these attributes to powerless humans.

I crane my head towards his neck, towards the part where the flesh is softest and most easily punctured. "This will only hurt for a moment," I murmur to him. "It'll feel like a pinch. Stay still and it won't hurt as much."

That is what we vampires have heard all our lives. That when we puncture their skin, it will only be painful for a second, just like a pinch. Whether or not that is true will forever remain a mystery to us.

We never go to the same human twice for feeding or whatnot, unless our intention is to either turn them into a vampire, or a subjugate.

I dip my head closer to his neck, letting my fangs rest on the surface of his skin. I close my eyes, and—

I hesitate. I can't do this. I can't.

I love him too much.

There, I said it. I finally admit it to myself. I can't do it.

I can't bear for him to feel this pain. I don't want him to die.

I gasp out loud. I was so close. I laugh and scream, somehow simultaneously, and back away from him, still on my knees.

I can't do this.

Covering my mouth with a hand as my fangs retract, I back away from him. "I'm sorry," I gasp, standing up. "I can't do this."

As the _Encanto_ wears off him, I start to see the sure signs of shock and panic form on his beautiful features. His light eyes widen with shock. "Eadlyn …"

"I owe you an explanation," I say, the words tumbling out of my mouth. "I know you might hate me after this, but _please_, just hear me out. Please," I plead.

He sighs a little. "Alright," he finally agrees.

"I'm a vampire," I blurt out. "I live in a clan. My entire family are vampires—Ahren. My parents. Kaden. Osten. We're vampires. Every single one of us."

His grey-blue eyes widen, letting out a little laugh in disbelief. "You're joking."

"No," I say. "I'm not. I wish I was."

He runs his hand through his blonde hair. "How …?"

I shrug. "I honestly don't know," I tell him. "I never really asked." Seeming more curious now, he asks me what it is like, being a vampire. "It's not that different from being a human … I think. I mean, sure, we are stronger, faster, have more advanced senses than humans, possess fangs and E_ncanto_—the power to … mesmerize and control humans, drink blood to live, can change into bats, rats, and dust, are nocturnal, but …" I spread my hands. "Aside from that, it's not that different. We still have families. We still have feelings. We have morals. Well, most of us anyways. There're a few rogue ones out there." I am tempted to add, _If we didn't, how come I saved you and refused to kill you?_, but I keep my mouth shut.

He nods. For a while, everything is silent, save for the gentle wind blowing through the trees and the gentle patter of animals' paws roaming up and down the quiet streets of Angeles. Finally, he raises his head, not daring to meet my eye. "I had one final question." His voice, though clear, shakes. Taking a deep breath, he utters, "What—and _why_—did you put me into that trance-like thing?"

I drop my head into my hands, dreading this question. Groaning, I haltingly explain, not daring to meet his eye. "After every vampire turns eighteen and before they turn nineteen, they must complete a ritual in order to be fully accepted into their clan as a respected adult. Any vampire seventeen and under are considered children, and therefore, have the same respect that their parents possess. They lose that once they turn sixteen, and must complete this ritual in order to regain their status." At this point, I stop, unsure if I should continue, as well as debating whether or not he can handle the news.

"And?" he gently prompts.

I lift my head and warily make eye contact with him. "You sure you want me to tell you?" He nods. "Well," I start, "the ritual is quite … inhumane from a human perspective. In order to complete the ritual, we must … we must … _kill_ the Chosen," I blurt out.

"'The Chosen'?" he repeats, confused.

"The Chosen candidates," I explain, "are a group of 35 young men between the ages of sixteen and twenty, personally hand-picked by the vampire going the ritual's family. The young men must be humans, and they do not know that they were picked. You were one of them. Henri, Hale, Burke, Leeland … they were chosen as well." I don't care if he knows who they are. In all honestly, I just told him so he wouldn't think this was some elaborate joke. "But I chose you."

I watch his face carefully for any signs of surprise or disbelief. There is none.

"In the ritual, after a vampire has chosen his or her Chosen, then they must wait at night for their Chosen to come out. Vampires actually have a bit of a sixth sense that is used once—in this situation. They can tell when their Chosen is planning to go out, and onto what street. I actually don't know how it works," I confess. "Don't ask me because I'll probably give you a wrong answer." I laugh weakly. "And then, once their Chosen is close enough to them, they will pounce, and either drag them into some dark alleyway, or do it quickly before they increase the risk of being seen. And then they will kill them by sucking out all their blood and tearing their chest open to get the heart and bring it back to the clan. I executed it perfectly—all up until the moment I rested the tips of my fangs on your neck. I—" My voice catches. "I couldn't do it. And now, I've lost my only chance. I'm a failure to my family. I let them down."

"Why?" he asks me, calmly. "Why couldn't you do it?"

"I _love_ you," I burst out. "I'm not kidding. I do." I close my eyes, and say, "There's also a catch in this ritual. The vampire will somehow fall in love with their Chosen … they've met all 35 men before, and the moment you fall in love with one of them, that's their Chosen. I don't know how it happens. It's somehow wired in us, I guess. The true test was whether or not you could resist your heart and kill your 'love'. Guess they didn't foresee the problem of what if they loved their Chosen even _before_ they were supposed to fall in love."

"Couldn't you have faked it? Or chose someone else?" he inquires in a small voice, looking down at the ground.

I vehemently shake my head. "The elder Vampires of the society put _us_ under _Encanto_ so we would tell the truth." Suddenly, without warning, I rush towards him, wrapping my arms around him in an embrace. "I'm so sorry," I tell him. "I don't know whether or not I'll ever see you again, but … I'm sorry. I really am."

With that, I release him, and head back home, leaving him in the alley, my feet feeling heavier and heavier with each step. I know that I will pay for this.

But I'm willing to suffer.

I'm not sorry for sparing him.

* * *

><p>As I walk into the barren room, I wonder if I've made the right decision to leave my clan—forever. I could still visit them, for sure, but I'll be mortal, lose all my vampire abilities and traits and … in a way, betray my family. "Eadlyn Amber Schreave," the booming voice of the leader of the vampire clan, Lily Chen, says to me. "You have requested to permanently leave your family and clan, and live the life of the mundane for the rest of your life. Is this correct?"<p>

"Yes," I say, firmly. I've failed my test. If I return to my family, I will only bring shame—to both them and myself. I've already suffered from failing; what have I got to lose, other than my immorality?

"You understand that you cannot turn back," she continues. "If you have changed your mind, please speak up now."

Silence.

"Are you sure?" she presses.

"Yes," I tell her with a firm nod of my head.

"Alright," she finally says. "Bid your family good-bye, and then we will begin the ritual. But I warn you, Miss Schreave, this will be extremely painful … even more painful than what most other former vampires have felt when they experienced it, as you were the heir to the family clan of the Schreave family."

I hug my family good-bye, and at last … it's time.

There's no going back now.

* * *

><p>I open my eyes to extremely bright sunlight. Startled, I squeak in fear and scoot to the end of the bed, where the sunlight does not hit it. My entire body explodes in pain as I do so, causing me to cry out. "Sh, sh," a familiar voice says, rushing to my side. "The sunlight won't harm you anymore, Eady," Kile says. "You're human now." Finally, I look up, into his light blue eyes, and smile.<p>

"So I realize," I murmur.

Running a hand over my wrist, I feel a faint wisp of a scar, with dried blood still around it. This occurs many times, in multiple areas of my body.

I paid the price of love with blood, scars, and pain. I left my family, and my dignity. I abandoned my immorality.

He kisses the scar on my wrist. "You're beautiful, even with your scars. It just shows that you're a fighter," he tells me, seeing that I recoil after his kiss on my wrist. I know that it's his way of saying that he loves me. Spending one's entire childhood with someone does that to you—you know them, inside and out. I just never knew that he also loved me. Guess that's one fact that he hid from me extremely well.

To think that, just a week ago, I would've vehemently denied the fact that I loved someone. Would have scoffed at someone who sacrificed a lot to be with the one whom they loved. Would've socked them in the face if they said that they person would be me.

I thoughtfully trace the scars on my leg.

It doesn't seem too atrocious now.

And you know what?

I don't regret it. Any of it.

* * *

><p><strong>Yay! Another one-shot, finished! (And just in time for Halloween, too! :) ) Is it too cheesy?<strong>

**I was going to put Erik down instead of Kile as Eadlyn's lover, but I felt weird because apparently Erik has blond hair and blue eyes, and this guy in my grade (who's also named Erik, same spelling), ****_also_**** has blond hair and blue eyes, so I felt kind of weird putting him down. Honestly, I keep picturing the dude from my grade whenever I read ****_The Heir_**** and Erik pops up. So. ****_ANNOYING_!**

**Rant over :P**

**And yes, I put some ****_Mortal Instruments_**** references in there. Couldn't resist ;)**

**Reviews:**

**maxerica and percabeth rule: New reviewer! Like your username by the way :) Aw, thank you :) Yeah, I didn't really want to kill Aspen off either, but I couldn't really think of another scenario of how their marriage ended (I didn't want it to be in a divorce). Here's the update! Thanks!**

**Roses323: Books are always better than the movies … ALWAYS. I think June or Day dies, right? (Heh … accidentally read a spoiler :P) Thanks!**

**theartnerd333 (chapters 16 and 18): It's okay :) School ALWAYS slays us, right? Thanks!**

**XOStarbrightXO: New reviewer! Haha, your review made me laugh. Thanks!**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-K**


	20. Chapter 20

**Hey guys!**

**Sorry I haven't posted since Halloween. My teachers are insane—they give us so much homework and expect us to finish it in a single night; what are we, Superman or something? GAH!**

**Now that it's Christmas break, I finally have time to write! Yay!**

**Anyways, hope you enjoy this one-shot!**

**Happy reading! :)**

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><p>•Without You•<p>

It doesn't hit me until one of the palace guards greet me with a "Merry Christmas, Your Majesty."

Christmas.

It's Christmas.

December 25. The day my father passed away.

Nodding back at the young man with a forced smile and a return of, "Merry Christmas to you too," I turn and briskly walk away, back to the direction I came from.

Stumbling into my private room, I collapse on the floor. How could I have forgotten?

I had forgotten, this whole time. Work and planning for (stupid) meetings and parties had distracted me from thinking about my family.

I sit up with a jolt. My family! I have no clue about how they are coping with this.

Hurriedly, I change into a pair of jeans and a sweater, slip on a pair of sneakers, and rush towards the little house my family now resides in.

When I finally arrive, out of breath, I don't even bother to knock; I just let myself in—well, rather, I barge in.

May is sprawled across the couch, a blanket wrapped around her. She looks up at the commotion I caused, and immediately after she sees me and makes brief eye contact with me, she looks away. "Nice to see you too, Ames," she drawls.

"May, I'm so sorry," I tell her in a rush. "I had piles and piles of work to do, and I lost track of the date ..." I trail off.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Sure."

"May, you have to believe me," I beg. "Do you think I wanted to forget Dad? Do you think I wanted him to leave?"

She doesn't answer.

I leave her on the couch, and head upstairs to find Mom and Gerad.

I find my little brother first, sitting cross-legged in his room, tossing a tennis ball back and forth between his hands. "Ger," I say softly, standing at the doorway.

His head shoots up. "Hi, Ames," he greets me, forlorn, catching the small, neon green ball in his right hand and walking over to me. I respond with a 'hi' and hug him, letting him rest his head on my shoulder. "It's really depressing in here," he tells me after a while, lifting his head off my shoulder. "All May does is lay on the couch, sulk, and snap at everyone. Mom's just been laying in bed and staring at the ceiling. None of them will eat, or talk, unless they have to. Ames, I'm going to go crazy. I've been trying to tell them that there's more to Dad than his death, and that we should focus on his life, not his death. That was only one moment in his entire life, Ames. _One moment_. And that's all they're focusing on? One moment?!"

I stare at the boy standing in front of me, my eyes wide. How did my little brother become so mature?

"May's always saying that I won't understand, that I'm too young, and Mom's reply is always something like 'You didn't know him like I did, Gerad,'" he continues, not noticing my shock. "I mean, of course I didn't know Dad the way they did, but it doesn't mean that I knew him any less. Besides—" he stops to take a breath at this point, "—I don't think Christmas is designated for any sulking or melancholy."

I pull him into a hug once more. "Ger," I tell him, firmly, "it doesn't matter what their reactions are. You've done your best. Let your big sister try to talk to them, okay?" He nods.

I leave his room and head over to the master bedroom. Just as Gerad said, Mom is laying on her bed, perfectly still, staring at the ceiling. "Mom …"

Her head turns towards the sound of my voice. "Hello, America," my mother says, offering me a weak smile. "How are you?"

"Mom, cut it out," I tell her, my voice strong. "Gerad already told me. How could you do this to him? To us? To Dad?"

At the mention of my father, she winces and faces the ceiling once more.

"Gerad's right, you know." I cross my arms and lean against the doorway. "There's more to Dad than his death. Just because one moment took away my father, your husband, doesn't mean that we should just focus on that. There are hundreds, _thousands_, more memories than the last one we have of him."

"You don't understand," Mom finally says, her voice strained.

"Oh, yes I do," I counter. "I've lost a father, a future-mother-in-law, a father-in-law, and a close friend of mine … all in a short span of a short week."

"Yes, but you didn't know them for twenty-two years."

"The amount of time you knew someone doesn't matter," I snap. "What matters is—"

"Darling, when you slowly lose your family members, one by one, their death _will_ start to matter. America, you'll see what I mean when you get older."

I sigh heavily. "Alright, Mom. Can you just get out of bed, try to convince May to join us, so all four of us can walk to the Palace and reminisce about Dad there?"

After much pondering on Mom's part, she finally agrees.

"Let's go," I say quickly before she changes her mind. I hand some clothes to her and leave her to change. Meanwhile, I head downstairs to try to convince my sister to stop her sulking and celebrate.

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><p>"Remember the time Dad tried to bake cookies with you for Mom's birthday, and it turned out to be a disaster?" May chimes in, chortling with laughter.<p>

"You should've seen your face!" I exclaim to Mom. "You looked like you couldn't decide whether to laugh or to yell at us."

Gerad frowns. "I don't remember that," he says slowly. "Was that before I was born?"

I shake my head. "Nope. You were around a year old."

"Oh."

We continue talking and laughing. No tears are shed. No unhappiness is present. All there is laughter and joy. Just as it should be.

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><p>After our reminiscing and early lunch, I run into Gerad, who prepares to leave with Mom and May. "Ger, come over here," I tell him. He obliges. I rest a hand on his shoulder, and, bending down to his level, say, "Thank you so much for helping Mom and May realize that there is more to Dad than just this death. They may not know it, but I do: Ger, what you kept reminding Mom and May of … those words, they're wise beyond your years. Not even grown-ups can sometimes comprehend that. I'm just saying it for both of them: thank you."<p>

He shrugs, and assures me that it was no problem. "After all," he adds, "isn't Christmas about happiness and giving?"

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><p><strong>The cookie incident was not my idea. I can't recall whether it was mentioned in the actual series or it was a fanfiction story I read. If it's fanfiction and you originally wrote the cookie scene, hope you don't mind that I used it! :)<strong>

**Reviews:**

**keneli10: New reviewer! So glad that you like this story! Unfortunately, that is the end of the quartet … Sorry! Thanks for reading my story, though!**

**XOStarbrightXO: It's okay :) I actually find Eadlyn a bit of a brat. And I couldn't really bring myself to have Erik as the main male character … seriously … imagining your classmate almost getting killed? Ugh. Nope. :P Well … grilled cheese is always good … Thanks! Here's the update :)**

**Kinder furever: Thanks! Here's the update!**

**Merry Christmas, guys!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**-K**


	21. Chapter 21

**Hey guys! :)**

**This is a little drabble. I figured that I could end this one-shot series with a cute little drabble. Sort of. It's longer than a drabble, but shorter than a one-shot. (Yeah … I might've forgotten to mention last chapter that this collection of one-shots/drabbles was ending. Oops?)**

**The sections labelled "xi" and "xii" apply to both the "i" and "ii" stories ... think of those parts as the same beginning and ending as two generations of the Royal family.**

**Hope it isn't too confusing for you.**

**Happy reading!**

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><p>•A New Beginning•<p>

xi.

It was a world of white as he stepped out of their cabin, his wife following suit. He squinted through the snow and locked eyes with his bride. Her eyes were shining with joy. It rarely snowed in Angeles, so, when he decided to take his new Queen out to Yukon to spend their first Christmas as a married couple, he knew that it would be something special … something that both he and his wife would remember—forever.

"It's snowing!" she exclaimed happily, hands flying up to cup her face, as though she was a child.

He laughed and drew her closer, wrapping his arm around her waist. "So it is," he agreed, resting his chin on the top of her head.

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><p>i.<p>

"So, my dear Amberly, do you like this surprise?" I asked her.

"Yes!" she cried. "Clarkson … thank you."

"Anything for you, my dear." I smiled unwrapped my arm around her waist, and offered it to her. "So, my Princess, what should be do right now?" I asked her. Instead of taking my arm, as I expected for her to do, she shook her head, and gently lowered my arm until it dangled by my side. She slipped her small hand in mine and linked our fingers together happily.

"I think …" she said slowly, bending down, and gathered some snow into her left hand, as her right was connected to mine. In a fluid motion she crushed the pile of snow into a quick little ball and whipped it at me. I was caught off guard, and couldn't dodge the snowball. It hit me square in the forehead and slid down my face. I stood there, frozen in shock. Amberly, taking advantage of my surprise, threw another snowball at me, snickering. "… we should have a snowball fight," she finished, a gleam in her eyes.

I wiped the snow off my face with my sleeve. "Oh, it's on," I told her, an evil grin on my face.

She giggled and ran around me, and threw a snowball at my back. I waited for her to run towards me again with another snowball. When her arm was close to my face, I took advantage of the proximity and lunged for her waist. I caught her (barely) and held her in my grasp, deftly latching on despite her kicks and punches (aimed supposedly at my face and arms). "Let me go!" she said in a jokingly frantic voice, squirming around.

I put my mouth close to her ear. "Not a chance," I whispered in a low voice.

She opened her mouth to object, and I used that opportunity to dump some snow into her mouth and give her a facewash. She squeaked in surprise and glared at me. "Clarkson!" she protested, after spitting out (and swallowing) the snow.

"You're welcome," I told her. I knew that I would have to uphold my duties as a prince and be more civilized and uptight upon our return to the palace as Crown Prince Clarkson and Crown Princess Amberly, but for now, when it's just Clarkson and Amberly, goofing off and acting like eight-year-olds having a snowball fight, we couldn't have cared less about decorum.

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><p>ii.<p>

"Carolina never had this much snow in winter …" America said in a tone of awe, partly to her herself, partly to me.

I chuckled. "I know. You like it?"

"Of course I do!" she cried indignantly. "It's snow! Everyone loves snow!" She paused. "Actually, not everyone," she amended. "My neighbour _hated_ the snow and would complain every single time I saw her about the, and I quote this part, 'White fluffy annoying stuff that gets in everyone's way.'"

I barked out a laugh. I turned and saw America staring thoughtfully at me, her head tilted to one side.

"By the way," she started, "did I ever tell you how I love your laugh? It sounds like a cough and a wheeze, like you have asthma, but I find it hilarious and adorable."

I stopped laughing, and turned to her, faking a frown. "What?" I demanded. "What did you say? How dare you insult the Crown Prince so!"

America snorted. "I said," she said slowly, and deliberately, taking the time to enunciate each word, "that your laugh sounds like you have asthma, but it's adorable—or, rather, a_dork_able."

I gasped. "How dare you!" I said dramatically. Then, on a sudden impulse, I told her, "That's it, no more snow for you." I grabbed her hand and hauled her back into the cabin.

"Maxon!" she complained. "The fun was just getting started!"

"Oh, dear. This is—"

"I am _not_ your dear!" America huffed, crossing her arms.

"—going to be a long night," I finished.

"Your attempt at a joke was terrible," she told me. I rolled my eyes, responding that the joke wasn't supposed to be funny, it was supposed to annoy her, in which she playfully punched me in the arm.

"Come on," I told her, smiling. "Let's get some cider or tea or coffee or whatever we can find in here and cuddle, okay?"

My wife sighed and gave in, taking my hand and pulled me towards our little kitchen.

After we finished making our hot cocoa, we carried our drinks to the living room and sat in front of the fireplace, America laying her head on my shoulder and occasionally lifting it to take a sip out of the dark brown liquid.

We sat there in comfortable silence—for how long, no one knows.

America's complaint of missing out on some "snow time" had long faded. Snow wouldn't last that long—maybe two months, three months at most.

But our love? Its lifespan was far greater than any snow could possess. Snow was temporary. Our love was forever. I was sure of that. Although my father felt that I was the one at fault for falling in love with her and wanted to marry her, he was the one at fault. He didn't understand love.

Or maybe he did. Briefly, when he married my mother.

At that, I felt a sudden longing for my mother. I still missed her. My father, too. (A bit, I guess. Even though he did all those cruel things to me, he still was my father.)

"I feel like an old lady, just sitting here on this couch in front of the fire," America joked, her voice pulling me out of my thoughts.

"It doesn't matter," I murmured to her, kissing her temple. "Because, one day, when we're both old and wrinkled and waddle rather than walk, we'll probably end up in this very position one day."

"And still be totally in love and act like how May does when she's around her boyfriend?"

"And still be totally in love and act like how May does when she's around her boyfriend," I confirmed with a smile. "I'm sure of it," I added, wrapping my arm around her shoulders.

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><p>xii.<p>

He stared at the blonde-haired child in front of him. It was his baby. His and his wife's. Their perfect, 7-month-old little baby boy. And he was crying. At three in the morning.

It wailed again, louder, and he slowly picked it up, grimacing, patting his bottom and rocking it. Handling babies were definitely _not_ his strong suit. He glanced at his wife, who was sitting on their bed. "You're doing a good job," she told him in a soft voice. "It's okay; don't be scared. It's not going to bite you."

"You sure about that?" he asked her, nervously.

"Fairly."

Just at that moment, their son picked the moment to stare wonderingly at the King's fingers, reach for one, and—

_CHOMP._

He howled in pain. "Hey!" he protested, nursing his wounded finger. "You said that it wouldn't bite!" he complained accusingly to the woman sitting nearby. Even if the baby had only four teeth, it still hurt.

His wife's shoulders moved up and down in laughter. "I said 'fairly,'" she corrected him, smiling.

"Fairly or not, that sure hurt as he—" he started, but, noting his wife's glare, finished, "heck. Who knew babies were this evil?"

"They aren't evil. They're just babies—exploring their world. And your finger happened to interest him enough to chomp on it."

"I don't like getting bitten," he grumbled. "And I certainly _don't_ like getting waken up in the middle of the night."

"You'll have to get used to it," she told him. "It's a new beginning, a new chapter, for both of us."

He stared at the child in his arms once more, albeit warily. "A new beginning," he echoed. "Sounds about right."

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><p><strong>I've dealt with babies before, but I seriously haven't gotten bitten by one yet, so I'm thankful for that :P (Actually, I'm not sure if newborn babies bite … let's pretend they do, okay? ;D)<strong>

**Reviews:**

**Kinder forever: Lol I totally get where you're coming from. Having semester courses sucks, but at least, during finals, it won't be that stressful :D Thanks!**

**XOStarbrightXO: I'm glad that you connect with last chapter's one-shot :) Yeah, he's pretty mature for his age, huh? I wanted the hero in that one-shot to surprise everyone :P Thanks!**

**Anyways, thanks for the 21 favourites, 21 follows, and 65 (and counting) reviews, as well as the 13 000+ views! I am so thankful for each and every review ****and view, and that you took the time to read these short stories****. When I started this collection of one-shots almost a year and a half ago, intending this to be a little side project for my random mind to make up even more random stories, I never expected this to have so many favourites, follows, and reviews. I'm sad, too, that this collection is ending, but, well … everything _does_ have to come to an end, so … yeah.**

**Oh, if you're a fan of the Percy Jackson series, I'm going to put a new story up tomorrow. It's titled ****_Unconditionally_****. Here is the synopsis:**

When his fiancée is put into a coma after being severely wounded while fighting, Percy stays by her beside every night, recounting every memory that happened between them, from the moment they met through a school program to the moment he saw her face to face … even if the memories hurt more than the reality. (AU/AH) Rated T.

**If you would like to check it out, you guys go to my page and find the story there! It's up now :)**

**Have a happy new year, guys!**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-K**


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